Oliver Wood and the Aisle Near the Restricted Section
by DecimatedOddity
Summary: Oliver Wood hated Slytherin. He hated everything about them. He hated their arrogance, he hated their head of house, he hated their cowardice, he hated their Quidditch team, and he definitely, most definitely hated Marcus Flint.
1. Pleasant Beginnings

Part One: Pleasant Beginnings

* * *

Oliver Wood hated Slytherin. He hated everything about them. He hated their arrogance, the way they sauntered around the school as if they were loved by everyone when it was actually quite the opposite. And it was all the worse, because they _knew_ everyone hated them, yet they would _still_ flaunt around the halls, as if they were gods, their blokes flirting shamelessly with any bird within a reasonable radius like the incorrigible gits they were. Oliver hated it.

He hated their cowardice. It was the Gryffindors who were the first to step forward when presented with a wary or unexpected task. Even the Hufflepuffs would volunteer before the Slytherins. They would all huddle in the back of the room like dogs trapped by a vacuum. Oliver hated it. He simply hated it.

He even hated their colors. Green and silver together repulsed him. Whenever the Christmas holidays came around, Oliver refused to pair those two colors together. He hated their Quidditch team. They dashed about the skies, committing foul plays, one after another as if the rules didn't apply to them. He hated their obsession with blood purity, he hated their head of house, and he definitely, most _definitely_ hated Marcus Flint.

This burning hatred it what caused Oliver to miss the opening match of the Quidditch season. And to make matters worse, the slimy Slytherin had managed to talk his way out of it! As Oliver lay in bed fuming over all of his wasted training, he tried to remember exactly how he'd landed himself in his predicament.

An essay was involved. He'd been in the library completing said essay. Because Oliver had spent all of his free time practicing Quidditch like he always did—of course Quidditch was the only thing that mattered—he sat in the library with books scattered around him while he scrambled to pull useful words and phrases from them after waiting until the last minute to complete an essay that McGonagall had assigned a week ago.

Books were everywhere, as were wads of discarded parchment from where Oliver had crumpled them, certain that McGonagall wouldn't accept the feeble attempts he'd put into them. His hair was a disarray from the many times he'd run his finger through it in exasperation and after two and half hours of effort, with only fifteen minutes left until the library closed—Madam Pince had already been over several times to remind him—Oliver sat surrounded in his mess with only three inches of essay. And his writing was as large as McGonagall would accept.

With Madam Pince glaring at him impatiently, Oliver sighed despondently and admitted defeat. He'd just have to accept the consequences when he failed to hand the essay in on time. McGonagall was strict, without a doubt. But she wasn't unfair. She wouldn't punish him with anything more than he deserved. At the most, she'd probably knock off half a few points for every day he failed to hand it in.

With a flick of his wand, Oliver vanished the many wads of paper one by one, then, too impatient—lazy might be a more appropriate word—to properly put the books back where they belong, he charmed the jumbled mess to return themselves to the nearest shelf. As the books drifted away, Oliver rolled up his nowhere-near-complete essay and put away his ink and quill. He strapped his bag around his shoulder and with a half-hearted yet grateful nod to Madam Pince, he shuffled out of the library.

Oliver recalled those events distinctly. They explained why he'd been away from Gryffindor tower at such a late hour in the first place. But after leaving the library, things became unclear for Oliver. He wasn't exactly sure what happened next. He wasn't exactly sure how or where he'd bumped into—quite literally though it was an accident—Marcus Flint.

An insult had been made, as a result. Yes. But that was nothing new. If they weren't glaring at each other across the Great Hall or on the Quidditch pitch, they were insulting one another. Or discreetly attempting to hex each other. So it was nothing new when a few nasty words were exchanged after Oliver accidentally bumped into Marcus. Oliver was preparing his sincerest apologies when he realised who it was.

"Watch where you're going you half breed git," Marcus snarled. It wasn't a hard thing for the boy to do. His face was practically always in a permanent scowl. But his tone wasn't completely spiteful that evening. And he'd said much worse things to Oliver. But those eight words were all it took for Oliver to snap. He completely ignored his wand. He wanted to feel skin under his knuckles. Oliver was much smaller than Marcus, but he had the other boy pinned under his waist in seconds.

Somehow Oliver's core smiled when his fist finally felt the resisting forced it craved, when it finally connected with Marcus's face. Oliver wanted to hear something crunch. He wanted to see blood. He put all his effort behind his next punch, but Marcus bucked his hip in an attempt flip them over, only managing to start a scuffle in the floor. They growled and pulled at each other's hair and robes, rolling around, throwing weak punches that came from bad angles, until the larger boy inevitably gained the upper hand.

Maybe it took so long because his attention was currently occupied, but it was then that Oliver noticed the grey cat out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure where Mrs. Norris came from, and he wasn't sure how long she'd been staring, but over his several years at Hogwarts, he'd learned that wherever she was, somehow—

"Hey! Stop that you nasty beasts!" Filch swiftly hobbled down the corridor, his jowls afflair. "Enough!" He grabbed each of them by an ear and snatched them apart. Oliver scowled at the sharp pain, thrashing about in a futile attempt to escape, only managing to make the pain worse. Oliver wasn't sure when it happened, but his nose had burst and blood poured down his lips. He held a hasty hand up to stop it. Still, blood seep through his fingers as he was pulled down the corridor by his collar.

Then, before Oliver knew what was happening, he was sitting next to Marcus in front a very stern looking McGonagall, her lips pressed, nostrils flared, and hair bun as severe and meticulous as always. Oliver was certain that she had more than spray holding those hairs in place. She glared at them from behind her desk, her face so ominous and unforgiving, that Oliver knew their meeting would not end well.

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves," she began, her voice so quiet that if the room weren't so silent, Oliver wouldn't have heard her. With a gentle flick of her wand, Oliver felt a burning heat in his nose, and then the pain and blood were both abruptly gone from his face and his hand. She continued speaking as if she hadn't just casually healed her student's face. "Brawling in the corridors like muggles! I have never been more appalled!" She glared daggers at the two of them, heaving like a bull for so long that Oliver grew uncomfortable. Both boys sat with downcast eyes until—

"Detention!" Oliver and Marcus both jumped at the sudden outburst. "For the both of you! This Saturday morning."

Both boys blanched. This Saturday morning? As in two-days-from-now Saturday morning? Surely she didn't mean that. "But professor!" Oliver argued. She couldn't do this to him! To Gryffindor! "This Saturday is the opening—"

"—the opening match for Gryffindor and Slytherin; I am well aware. And you two will miss it." She continued to glare, just as stern as ever. "It's much less than what you deserve. Don't you think? While everyone else files out to Quidditch pitch, you two will report here. I suggest you find substitutes for yourselves soon. Off to bed with the both of you. Goodnight. I'll see you in class tomorrow."

Marcus scraped his chair against the floor and stormed out of the study before Oliver could even move.


	2. From McGonagall to Pince

Oliver was boiling, steaming like a too full pot on a blazing eye. Unlike him, Marcus didn't have to miss the opening game. He'd managed to weasel his way out of it by talking up his Seeker's injury, making it sound worse than it was. Oliver was absolutely certain that _t_ _here was nothing wrong with Malfoy's arm!_ Now, because of Marcus's nifty lies, Gryffindor would be playing Ravenclaw instead, and Oliver wouldn't be there to coach his team through it. Oliver thought it should be illegal to play a match without the captain. Who would direct his team? But out of the 700 fouls and rules to the game, Oliver was certain that that wasn't one of them.

So two days later, on a sunny morning, perfect conditions for his match, Oliver fumed as he reported to McGonagall's study instead. His hand twitched toward his wand when the Slytherin approached, just as slimy looking as ever. Oliver _desperately_ desired to hex the boy. He wanted it with every fibre of his being. But at that moment McGonagall gently opened her door, as if it were charmed to notify her of someone's presence.

"Good morning, Mr. Wood, Mr. Flint." She greeted them with the same everpresently stern demeanor she always maintained, as if this were a typical encounter, as if she hadn't strategically timed a detention that adverdently caused Oliver to miss his match. The entire concept burned Oliver to his core, but he forced himself to smile instead of scowl at his head of house and deputy headmistress.

"Good morning, professor," he responded through his obviously faux smile. Whether she saw through it or not, Oliver wasn't sure, but she gave him a stiff nod then excused herself and stepped between the two of them. And after a prompt command for them to follow her, she swiftly set off down the corridor.

"You two will serve your detention with Madam Pince in the library," Professor McGonagall said, without looking back or breaking her stride. "You'll be helping her reorganize shelves that uncaring students have ravished over the years."

They set off down a staircase, all three of them taking a wide step to avoid the sinking one. Once your foot got caught in there, it was next to impossible to free yourself without losing a shoe. For a moment, Oliver vacantly wondered how many shoes were still trapped in there. He personally inew that two of them belonged to him. Then his mind snapped back to his gruesome present as he and Marcus obediently turned a final corner and followed McGonogall down the last corridor, the library in sight. She stopped and turned to them finally, when they reached the entrance.

"I don't want hear about a _spec_ of trouble from you two," she said crisply. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," they answered in a unanimous monotone, their faces placid. Anything else would indubitably result in a reduction of house points. Or worse, another detention.

"You two will do whatever she asks, _when_ she asks, without complaint."

"Yes, Professor."

"Alright then." She sighed and Oliver thought he saw just a _bit_ of sympathy in her expression. "Get to it."

And with a despondent sigh and slumped shoulders, Oliver followed Marcus into the library.

"Mr. Wood, may I have a word?" Marcus glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, but continued inside to where Madam Pince waited behind her counter while Oliver stepped backed out the door. Surprisingly, McGonagall's face was filled with care and concern. Her stiff posture had even relaxed. So. It _was_ sympathy that Oliver had just seen.

"Oliver," she began softly. " _Behave_ yourself. I am astutely aware of the _undying,_ " she rolled her eyes as she filled the word with sarcasm, "rivalry between the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin, but _please_ do not give me a reason to punish you further. I don't _want_ to do these things. I do them because it is my duty. Please, Oliver. Do I make myself clear?"

Oliver sighed in defeat. McGonagall was displaying blatant favoritism for her house, something she _never_ did. Oliver guessed that he could do this for her. For _this one night_ he could _try_ to get along with Marcus.

"Yes, Professor," Oliver said for the third time that night. But this time was different. He actually meant it.

"Very well then." Her stern demeanor returned, stamping itself back in place. She stiffly nodded her head toward the doorway. "Get to it." Then she turned and swiftly set off in the opposite direction. Oliver was certain that she hadn't said anything because she didn't want to rub it in, but he knew she was headed out to enjoy the match.

He turned and shuffled up to library counter, mumbling obscenities under his breath. At least they had a view of the giant squid splashing around in the lake from in here instead of a view of the Quidditch pitch. Oliver couldn't bare watching them play without him.

"Nice of you to join us Mr. Wood."

Oliver stared at her blankly. Really? She said that as if he were late on purpose, as if she hadn't seen and heard McGonagall pull him to the side. Oliver closed his eyes and exhaled a slow breath. Thing's were already starting out bad, but he'd given McGonagall his word. He wouldn't snap a smart retort.

Oliver open his eyes and smiled warmly instead, as if he were there for tea and pastries. "Good evening, Madam Pince."

She raised a curious eyebrow in response. "Hmph… Well, I take it that Professor McGonagall explained what you two would be doing this evening?"

They both nodded.

"Very well. You can start in the front and work your way back."

With slumped shoulders, they pulled their wands from their robes and set off.

"Oh but wait," Madam Pince stopped them with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Did she not tell you? How _silly_ of me. It must've slipped my mind to mention it to her. You'll be doing this _without_ magic. My apologies." She held out a pale hand, looking everything _but_ apologetic. Oliver wanted to _hex_ the witch.

Marcus stared at her incredulously. "Without magic? You can't be serious. That's ridiculous. The library's _huge._ It's almost the same size as the great hall. That'll take hours!"

"Precisely," she responded with that same disgustingly sweet smile. "Maybe even… _days._ "

Oliver blanched. He didn't like the sound of that. "Days? But we're only here for this one night... Right?" He dreaded the answer he knew was coming.

Madam Pince's sickeningly warm smile never left her face. "Oh, no dear. No, no, _no_. You will return here every Saturday until you've finished the entire library. Once you get them back in order, I'll be able to charm the books to keep themselves that way. I've been meaning to do it for years, but… it's _such_ a tedious task." She smiled and flexed the fingers of her still outstretched hand in a gesture for them to hand their wands over.

Oliver's knees almost gave out. He wanted to burst into tears as he place his wand in her palm next to Marcus's. Every _weekend?_ How had he gotten himself into this again?


	3. Something Like Fire

After handing over his wand, Oliver promptly set off to work on the opposite side of the library, away from Marcus. He was already fuming from being stuck in the situation, so anything the older boy had to say would probably ignite the fire.

But Oliver's rage was short lived. The library was in a terrible disarray and his fury quickly turned to frustration. Navigating the library was easy when you had a wand, he could personally attest to that, but navigating without it? Books that should've been alphabetized by category were all over the place. How had a book on ancient runes wound up next to a book about hinkypunks? And next to that, _The Rusty Roots of Herbology?_

Oliver was forced to cross paths with Marcus several times throughout the day as he took armfuls of books back to their respective sections. They didn't say anything to each other whenever they did. They barely looked at each other. Madam Pince finally decided to dismiss them after _six_ _hours_ , _well_ after the match had ended. Oliver wasted no time leaving and tried to make the best of what little was left of his Saturday.

Early the next morning Oliver bammed on McGonagall's door. He didn't care what the hour was. He needed to speak with her immediately.

She snatched her door open seconds later, still wearing her house gown, her hair thrown in an obviously hasty bun, and her wand brandished. Her expression was fierce, ready for battle. McGonagall peered down either end of the corridor, her wand still pointed. When she saw that there was no threat, she visibly relaxed. Then she stared at Oliver incredulously.

"Wood! What is the meaning of this?!" She raised her hands and slapped them down at her side, staring at him with eyes the size of Galleons. "I thought there was a riot raging in the corridor or something! Or a blazing fiendfyre!"

Oliver's fury had completely vacated him. He was prepared to _demand_ that McGonagall talk with Madam Pince, but her appearance cut him short. He simply stared at a disheveled McGonagall's and stammered.

"You—G—How…"

McGonagall sarcastically mocked him and stammered back. "You—G—G—G—How _what?! What?!_ " She stared furiously, then raised her hands and dropped them to her sides again when she didn't receive an answer.

"Well _obviously_ this must be _drastic_. Or at least you think it is." She glared at him, heaving like a bull. " _Please,_ take a seat while I make myself presentable." She stood aside in her doorway and gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Then with a wave of her wand, a tray of finger sandwiches appeared atop it.

"Have a sandwich," she said spitefully. "At least _one_ of us knows how to be polite." Then she vanished into a side door, slamming it behind herself.

Oliver took one of the sandwiches and nibbled on it. Oliver had never seen McGonagall this way. He was almost certain that no one had. But now that he thought about it, he didn't know what he'd been expecting or why he was surprised. Of course she wasn't ready for the day yet. It was barely seven in the morning. She'd probably just gotten up. Hadn't he just gotten up himself?

Minutes and a few sandwiches later, a properly dressed yet still furious McGonagall emerged from her quarters and seated herself behind her desk.

"Now. _What_ do I owe the pleasure?" She vanished the sandwiches and folded her hands in their place, glaring tight lipped at her student.

"I'm sorry, professor…" Oliver said, fumbling over where to start now. He realized that his initial approach had been quite rude and probably wouldn't help with his cause. "Last night—Madam Pince—she—"

"This is about your _detention?_ You bam on my door like a raging stallion at this ungodly hour over your _detention?_ Why I aught to give you another!"

"Do you know she's making us organise the entire library?"

That seemed to shut McGonagall up. Her face abruptly grew blank. It was obvious that she did not. "Well that's a bit extreme…"

"A bit _extreme?_ " Oliver said indignantly. "She making us come back every Saturday to fix it _without magic._ Professor, I _know_ you didn't put her up to that."

"Of _course_ not. I simply asked her if she needed any help around the library because I had two seventh year boys with a detention to serve. Personally, I would never assign a student such a task, but she is a Hogwarts Official and I left her in charge of the detention. Therefore, it is now up to her to do with it as she sees fit."

"But Professor… The _entire library…_ Working once a week, that'll probably take us until the end of term! Most of our matches are on Saturdays!"

"Well might I suggest you work a few Sundays as well? Maybe slip in on your free time throughout the week?"

Oliver stared at her opened mouthed. He looked as if she'd just insulted his mother.

"I'll see if I can have all of the matches scheduled for Saturday evenings instead of mornings. And that is all I will do. Yes, I think her method is a bit much and I assure you that it was not my intention, but Irma has just as much authority to discipline—well not _just_ as much, but she has the authority and I will not not override it."

"But Professor—"

"That is my final word, Wood," she interrupted sharply and he knew that their meeting was adjourned. "Now if you would excuse me, I would like to attend breakfast before I prepare for my lessons."

Oliver sighed and shook his head in defeat. Then, completely failing not to scowl in the process, he exited her study.


	4. An Unlikely Bond

And so it was. As much as it pained Oliver, he dutifully reported to library over the next few Saturdays. Like clockwork, he and Marcus would meet each other at the library's entrance, at precisely 6pm, approaching from opposite ends of the corridor.

At first, they wouldn't even look at each other. No eye contact whatsoever as they entered the library, side by side. They would step up to counter and greet Madam Pince in a morbid monotone. Then they would hand over their wands and immediately set off to opposite ends of the library.

By the third weekend however, Oliver felt like things had to change. At the rate they were going, the two of them probably _would_ be serving this detention until the end of term. Working apart like they were was taking too much time. It had been almost three Saturdays already, and they'd only completed one aisle a piece.

As much as Oliver hated to think it, as much as he _hated Marcus,_ his only option was to work with him. Because Oliver _refused_ to spend his extra time working in that library. He was already being forced to spend Saturday evenings there, when he could be off somewhere in Hogsmeade instead. Probably chasing after a bird.

Oliver was certain that if he and Marcus put in a collective effort, things would progress much faster. So on the evening of the fourth Saturday, Oliver dutifully set out to the library once again. When he cut his final corner, sure enough, there was Marcus approaching from the other end of the corridor. When they reached a distance that Oliver felt was appropriate, he caught Marcus's eye for the first time since they'd begun the dreadful detentions.

Marcus didn't scowl. He didn't say anything. He simply locked eyes with Oliver, his deep silver iruses piercing into Oliver's hazel ones as they both continued their stride toward the library's entrance. Oliver took the lack of scowling as a good omen and tested the water with a stiff nod at Marcus as a greeting. Though Marcus's expression remained as cold as the lake in the winter, Oliver was relieved when the older boy greeted him back, nodding just as stiffly in return.

Oliver forced himself not to smile as he and Marcus turned shoulder to shoulder and entered the library. This was a good sign. Oliver had been working out what he'd say to Marcus all week, his rival for the ongoing six years, and obtaining a simple greeting from the boy was Oliver's solid first step.

But after handing over their wands, all of the planning Oliver had put in went out the window when Marcus turned and set off for his side of the library.

"Flint, wait," Oliver stopped him tentatively.

Marcus paused and slowly turned back with a daintily raised eyebrow, as if he were surprised that Oliver had the audacity to speak to him.

"Look." Oliver spoke blatantly. "If we keep working separately like this, we'll be in here forever. I know you want to get this over with and have your Saturday evenings back just as much I do. We might not be best mates, but if we work together well get out of here much faster. What do you say?"

Oliver held a sweaty palm out for Marcus to shake. He didn't realize how nervous he was, that he was holding a timid breath, until he felt him himself relax after Marcus firmly gripped his hand and shook it. Oliver couldn't fight the smile that broke out on his face. It worked!

But Marcus quickly shut him down. "This doesn't make us friends," he said, his face portraying the fact that he would rather be anywhere but there. "I still hate your Gryffindor guts. I'm just willing to work with you if it'll get me _away_ from you."

Oliver's grin swiftly turned to a scowl. "Fine, you _slimy_ Slytherin."

"Fine _. Grimy_ Gryffindor." Marcus curled his lip and folded his arms in a closed and defensive manner. "What do you suggest?"

Oliver closed his eyes and sighed. He wouldn't snap at Marcus's blatantly disgusting tone. Yes, there were still insults involved, but this was good. At least they were communicating.

Oliver spoke calmly. "For starters, we _have_ to stop walking the books back to their proper shelves in our arms. That's too many trips and takes up too much time."

"Well we can't use magic. What do you want us to do?" Marcus asked sarcastically. "Load the books up in our robes and haul them across the library on our backs like mules?"

"You know. That's actually brilliant…" Oliver said as the words sank in. Then he quickly amended himself. "Not the carry them on our backs part, but we _can_ use our robes as a—a _sack_ of sorts. We'll lay it across the floor like a sheet, load it up, then you take two corners, I take the other two, and with our combined strength, we can carry _dozens_ of books at one time!"

Marcus's eyebrows bunched together, Oliver could see him working it over in his brain. "I think that'll work..."

"Yeah it will!" Oliver couldn't help smiling again. "You're brilliant, Flint!"

And this time, Oliver caught the beginnings of smile on a corner of the larger boy's lips as well. "Well then… I guess as I am," he said modestly.

"Come on," Oliver gestured him over to Marcus's side of the library and they picked up where the older boy had left of the previous Saturday.

"We should use your robe," Oliver suggested. "You're larger than me, so your robe is larger and will hold more."

Marcus nodded in agreement and shrugged out of it. He laid the robe out like a sheet, just a Oliver had described, then he undid his cuffs and rolled up sleeves.

In the future, when Oliver thought back, he would know that this was the precise moment that his life changed. It was the moment that he discovered a new side of himself. Because Oliver had seen Marcus up close before on the Quidditch pitch plenty of times. But never like this, never without some sort of robe. The older boy's forearms were massive, veins wrapping around them, flowing down into his hands. His button up clung to his torso, defining his thick arms and broad shoulders.

Oliver had known it before now, could see that Marcus was taller when he stood near the older boy, but he could truly see for the first time how _large_ Marcus was. His hands, his arms, even his _neck_ was all thick with muscles. He was so _broad_ and _masculine_. And—and… There was no other word for it. Handsome. Marcus was a handsome person.

"What are you staring at?" Marcus sneered, his eyebrows bunched together.

"N—nothing," Oliver stammered, blinking a few times. He hadn't even realized he'd been ogling the boy. "Erm… Where did—whe—where did you stop?" Oliver turned to the shelf, an excuse to not look at Marcus's strong body. What was wrong with Oliver? Was he jealous of the older boy's more fit body _?_

"It was around in here," Marcus answered, gesturing to the shelf. Oliver could still feel the other boy eyeing him curiously but he ignored it.

"Then let's get to it." And Oliver dove in, grateful for the distraction.

Marcus's method turned out to truly be brilliant. They knocked out an entire corner of the library in one night. The hardest part was alphabetizing them once they got the robe full of similar books where they belonged.

Throughout the night, while they worked, Oliver found himself blatantly gazing at Marcus on several different occasions. He wouldn't even notice he was doing it until Marcus looked up and caught him. Oliver would snatch his eyes away and hastily toss the books in his hands into the robe, all the while trying and failing not to turn red.

But Oliver didn't feel so embarrassed about being caught staring at Marcus after he caught Marcus staring at _him_ a few times. The difference was, Marcus didn't care when Oliver caught him. Marcus never said anything. Neither of them did. He would just look Oliver in the eyes whenever the younger boy caught him staring and Marcus would continue to placidly gaze until he found whatever it was he was looking for in Oliver's face, then he would turn and go back to work.

When Madam Pince finally dismissed them, Marcus actually high fived Oliver for how much they'd accomplished together. Then they'd awkwardly bade each other good night, collected their wands, and went their separate ways.

Oliver made his way back to Gryffindor tower, deep in thought. Marcus's face seemed to be permanently stamped across Oliver's mind. Oliver was certain that if he had the artistic ability, he could could paint it flawlessly without ever seeing it again. It would be a masterpiece like the world had never seen before.

The older boy dominated Oliver's mind for the rest of the night. As he showered. As he prepared for sleep. Even as he lay in bed listening to Percy Weasley's gentle, even breathing from the bed next to his. Marcus's strong body—and the cute half-smirk he'd made when Oliver had called him brilliant—was at the forefront of Oliver's mind even as he drifted off to sleep.


	5. A State of Mind

Throughout the next week, Marcus Flint continued to dominate Oliver's mind. Oliver thought of him while he studied. He thought of questions Marcus might ask about his current topic or nasty comments the older boy would make about the more difficult parts. He thought of Marcus while he practiced Quidditch, while he washed up afterwards, while in his lessons. Frankly, he thought of him _too much_ and if Oliver were being completely honest with himself, he found it a little unsettling.

Oliver was a normal boy. He liked Quidditch and chasing after birds. But was it normal for him to think about Marcus as much as he was? Was it _normal_ for him to think of Marcus as handsome? To refer to his smile as cute? Oliver couldn't possibly… _fancy_ Marcus. Could he? Certainly Oliver wasn't a… _fairy_. Was he? He'd seen pansies around Eisenberg and London. Oliver didn't act like those blokes at all. He didn't speak with a lisp or flick his wrist like a bird. No. Oliver was _not_ a pansy.

He found himself staring at other blokes after that frightening thought occurred to him. Oliver looked at Harry Potter, Percy Weasley, the only roommate he had left, the other Weasley brothers at Quidditch practice. Cedric Diggory, Roger Davies, even a few of the Slytherins. Graham Montague, Blaize Zabini. Nothing. Oliver felt nothing when he stared at these boys. There was just something about Marcus Flint that Oliver couldn't shake.

It was disorienting and maddening and frustrating and so many other emotions. Who was Marcus to make Oliver feel this way? He was just a slimy Slytherin! Hadn't Oliver hated his guts just a few days ago? Weren't they just brawling in the corridor? That's what had landed them in this mess in the first place. And now Oliver was fawning over the boy. What had happened? Everything became immensely worse when Marcus confronted Oliver in a bathroom one afternoon, the day before their next detention.

It was a completely coincidental meeting. Oliver was washing his hands after taking a leak, when he heard laughter outside the door, but couldn't precisely make out the voice over the running water. It went over his head. Students were always laughing and joking with each other.

"I'll catch up to you guys later," Oliver heard. Then the loo's door squeaked open and slammed shut again. Oliver didn't even look over his shoulder to see who it was. Didn't even look in the mirror at the boy's reflection. He wasn't concerned. He heard the pee striking the urinal while he performed a quick drying charm on his hands. Then he turned around and froze.

Tall person. Dark hair, green robes, broad build. The person didn't even have to turn around. Oliver knew exactly who he was from behind. He'd been thinking about him all week. He'd watched him practically non-stop while they worked the previous Saturday.

Oliver hadn't completely braced himself. He hadn't gotten his staring problem completely under control. He'd been preparing himself to see Marcus again tomorrow! Not today! Oliver wasn't ready! But before he could unthaw and make a break for the door, Marcus had flushed and turned around.

Oliver noticed the older boy's face when he saw who was behind him. Oliver was certain that for a split second, Marcus's expression mirrored his own. Startled, unprepared. But unlike Oliver, Marcus quickly pulled himself together and slapped the cold expression he always wore into place.

"So now you're staring at me while I pee too?" Marcus raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

Oliver blanched. " _What?_ " Merlin. He hoped Marcus wouldn't tell anyone about this.

"Don't think I didn't notice you _ogling_ me Saturday. What are you? Queer or something?"

Oliver turned a deep scarlet. Because there it was. There was the precise thing that had been bothering him all week, tossed out of Marcus's mouth like an insult. Oliver didn't _want_ to be but he wasn't sure if he was queer or not. He definitely wasn't going to tell that to the person who was making him question himself in the first place. Either way, Marcus took Oliver's silence as an answer.

"Look. I don't care who you fancy. But you can stop looking _my_ way. I wouldn't be caught dead with a grimy Gryffindor. Besides. I'm not a pansy anyway."

"Well I couldn't tell from the way you were watching me too," Oliver snapped back, folding his arms smartly. Honestly Marcus should've known that retort was coming. "I mean, it's not like you were _hiding_ it."

Marcus _had_ prepared for that because he promptly fired a rebuttal. " _I_ was just checking to see if _you_ were still gazing at me."

Was that the best he could do? "Really?" Oliver said sarcastically. "Because that's not what it looked like. It seemed like you just wanted to _look_ at me." Oliver put at much emphasis on the word as he could. If Marcus wanted to throw insults, Oliver could too. Besides, it was the truth. Marcus had been blatantly staring.

"What are you trying to say?!" Marcus stepped closer, so close that Oliver had to look up at him. "I told you I'm not a bloody pansy!"

"Well I couldn't tell," Oliver spat, his arms still folded. Marcus looked like a bull ready to charge, but Oliver didn't draw his wand. Not just yet. He stared up into the larger boy's furious eyes and Marcus stared back, silver locked with hazel.

Then something quite unexpected occurred. Oliver only _just_ saw it coming before it did. Marcus's eyes flicking down to Oliver's lips was the younger boy's only clue. Then, Oliver's back was slammed into the wall and surprisingly soft lips were pressed into his own.

After he _instantly_ kissed him back and pulled the larger boy closer, Oliver knew. After only a week of doubt, only a mere _week_ of questioning himself and Oliver was certain. He wasn't like the other boys. He was different. He _liked_ this. He _liked_ kissing Marcus. He liked the feel of Marcus's strong, hard body pressing him into the wall. He liked the tongue in his mouth, the hands running down his sides and—oh Merlin— _groping his arse._ Oliver couldn't think properly with Marcus—

Then, just as abruptly as he'd initiated it, Marcus snatched himself back and pulled himself out of Oliver's arms. Oliver could see the confusion in the older boy's eyes, the _fear._ Marcus stared at his hand incredulously, as if they had betrayed him somehow, as if they had a mind of their own and had squeezed the younger boy's arse on their own accord. Oliver could see the boy's thoughts all over his face.

 _What the bloody hell did I just do?_ Then, before Oliver could stop him, Marcus turned and fled the bathroom so swiftly he left only a swish of a cloak and a slamming door in his wake.

For a moment, Oliver simply stood there dazed. Had he just snogged Marcus Flint? A Slytherin _boy?_ And had he _enjoyed_ it? Oliver stood there, his back still pressed against the wall, heaving from astonishment, adrenaline, and… excitement? Is that what he felt? Yes, if the solid stiffie in his trousers was anything to go on. Oliver took a couple of deep breaths and after a few seconds of collection, he composed himself, fixed his robes and all but stumbled back to Gryffindor Tower. He still had Charms to attend, but he would have to skive off. He wouldn't be able to focus anyway.

The next day, Oliver braced himself for his encounter with Marcus. He wasn't exactly sure what would happen, but he was a Gryffindor and he would face it head on.

Still Oliver's heart throbbed as he walked to the library the next evening. What would Marcus say? What would he do? Oliver's rib cage felt like it might snap from the force of his fiercely beating heart as he turned the final corner and... Marcus wasn't approaching. They'd been coming here together for over a month and Marcus was never _not approaching._

Revelation fell over Oliver like a waterfall. Would Marcus really skive off _detention_ to avoid him? Would he risk the repercussions? Oliver had never even _accidentally_ missed a detention let alone skipped one intentionally. But it looked as if Marcus was doing just that and Oliver had absolutely no idea what would happen to him as a result.


	6. From Pince to McGonagall

Throughout the next week, Oliver could tell that Marcus was avoiding him. It was obvious. He sat on the opposite side of the room from him in the the two classes they had together, Defense and Potions and he _refused_ to catch Oliver's eye throughout the entire lesson. They usually crossed each other a few times in the corridors, but Oliver saw hide nor hair of the older boy if they weren't in one of those two classes.

Well there and the Great Hall. But as desperately as Oliver wanted to speak to Marcus, he didn't _dare_ approach him in the Great Hall. No. Oliver stayed at Gryffindor table where he belonged. Though he'd accepted how he felt and had full intentions of acting on his emotions, he did not need nor desire speculations about him and Marcus floating around the school. No. Oliver would somehow have to get Marcus alone again.

The next Saturday evening, Oliver wasn't surprised to find that when he cut his final corner, once again, Marcus wasn't approaching. Oliver didn't look forward to doing the work alone again, but he'd already braced himself for it. Last Saturday had been horrible. Attempting Marcus's robe-carrying method without his help was a little difficult. Oliver had wound up toting the robe on his back like Marcus had described and that left him with aches that he had to literally _beg_ Percy to message out.

No. Oliver did _not_ look forward to doing it again without Marcus. But he handed his wand over to Madam Pince and set off to one of the last two corners they had left. Well _he_ had left. Because it looked like Oliver was alone now. Oliver was torn between admiration that Marcus had the bollocks to skip and anger that the Slytherin had left him in this mess.

Oliver wasn't sure if Marcus had been punished for skiving. But surely the boy hadn't got away with it and surely they wouldn't let him keep doing it. What if Marcus got suspended? Or worse… expelled? Oliver blanched. There was a possibility that Oliver would never see Marcus again. That thought almost made Oliver brave approaching the Slytherin table the next morning. But Oliver forced himself to be rational.

He was simply being paranoid, overthinking things. Dumbledore wouldn't expel a student for refusing to serve a detention. Would he? No. Dumbledore would try to understand why Marcus was refusing to go. Would Marcus explain? Oliver tried to picture Marcus sitting in front of their headmaster's desk, informing the man of his encounter in the loo. The thought of it _terrified_ Oliver.

Because he had only _just_ come to terms with himself; he couldn't fathom telling anyone else about it yet. If Oliver were under that spotlight, he would be terrified so he could only imagine that Marcus would be as well.

Oliver trudged through the library alone, hauling the robe full of books over his shoulder like Santa did his bag. When Madam Pince finally dismissed him, with his back killing him, Oliver somehow made his way back to Gryffindor tower. As typical, Percy was still awake, reading something or the other and once again, Oliver _begged_ him to work the kinks out. It was much easier to get him to relent this time.

As he lay there in his bed shirtless with his roommate digging his palms into his back, Oliver couldn't help wishing it was Marcus's strong hands touching him instead.

—

Oliver received the surprise of his life the following Monday afternoon. It was approximately around three pm when it happened. He was trudging through Potions, with Snape sweeping around the room like the oversized bat he was, periodically peering into cauldrons and barking his criticisms at improperly performed procedures, while completely failing to acknowledge anything done correctly. A student knew they were on the right track if he crossed their pot without a word, only a nasty sneer.

Marcus sat on the other side of the dungeon, as what had become typical of him, completely ignoring Oliver. He didn't look like he was in trouble for anything. He simply stared into his pot, his brows bunched together from either concentration, determination, or frustration, Oliver couldn't tell. There was no sign of apprehension about imminent expulsion. Could he really be skiving off detention without consequence?

Oliver didn't notice he was staring at Marcus until he caught Snape out if the corner of his eye, swooping across the room in his direction. Oliver promptly redirected his attention to his cauldron. He read over the next step of the potion Snape had assigned.

 _Add chopped garbanzo root and stir once clockwise._

Oliver scooped the roots he'd tried his hardest not to butcher into his hand and sprinkled them into the pot then gave the cauldron one single clockwise sir.

 _After single clockwise stir, stir counterclockwise until you lose count._

Oliver frowned. Had he read that properly? Yes. It said until he lost count. But that could be _any_ number of stirs. How did the potion know when he'd lost count? It _should_ read, _stir until you get tired of stirring._ What kind of potion did Snape have them _brewing?_

At precisely that moment, just when Snape's hooked nose had begun to lean over Oliver's pot, there was a light rap on the door. Snape, along with everyone else, snapped his greasy head in the direction, with a deadly expression, as if wondering who would _dare_ interrupt his lesson.

"Enter," he said coldly.

The door cracked and Cormac McLaggen popped a pale face into the room, as if he were afraid to completely come inside.

" _What_ is so important that you must interrupt my lesson, McLaggen?" Snape said, his voice as sharp a pine needles.

Oliver thought it impossible, but the boy's face blanched even further. "I'm sorry, professor. I was sent by McGonagall to fetch Wood."

Fetch Wood? Every set of eyes in the room turned to look at Oliver. Every pair but Marcus's. No. The older boy continued to unblinking glare off into his cauldron as if it's contents were the most captivating thing he'd ever encountered, as if he could find a more pratical way of curing Spattergroit if he starred hard enough.

Oliver had absolutely no idea what this could possibly be about, but judging by the way everyone was watching him curiously but Marcus still _refused to turn his eyes away from his portion_ was confirmation that this had something to do with him. What had Marcus done?


	7. From Pince to McGonagall: part ii

_"Well?_ " Snape spat. "What are you waiting for? Pack up and get out!" He said it spitefully, as if it were Oliver's choice to be pulled from the lesson. Oliver forced himself not to scowl at the rude dismal. He vanished his potion and swiftly packed his things away.

"Oh," Snape said, his words stopping Oliver on his way out the door. "Zero points for today, Mr. Wood." Then he turned his attention back to his students.

This time Oliver completely failed not to scowl at how utterly _unfair_ that was! It wasn't his fault that he was being pulled from class! A soft yet furious grunt escaped Oliver as he succeeded in not slamming the door behind himself. He knew it would do him more trouble than good. He found himself glaring at Cormac before he realized that the younger Gryffindor had done nothing wrong. With a relaxing sigh, Oliver forced his voice to come out calm.

"So what is this about?" he asked as they set off away from the dungeons.

Cormac shrugged. "I don't know. Our lesson ended and she held me after. I thought I was in trouble, but she only asked me to stop by here and send you to her study. I wish you the best of luck. She didn't sound like it was anything good."

Oliver frowned. What in the bloody hell?

"Well thanks for grabbing me." Oliver nodded and, though he was as confused as he'd ever been, he smiled. Cormac smiled sympathetically and stepped forward to walk a little faster, leaving Oliver to his apprehensive thoughts.

It's funny how when you're anticipating something, it seems to take forever to arrive. But when you're dreading it, it pops up in your face like a Jack in the Box. This would explain why Oliver found himself knocking on McGonagall's door so soon. Hadn't he just been in the dungeons on the other side of the castle? Where had all that time gone?

"Come in, Mr. Wood," McGonagall's voice came from the other side of the door. Oliver took a deep breath, inhaling his Gryffindor courage and exhaling all of his worries. Maybe this was good. Maybe he was fretting over nothing. Cormac had only said it _sounded_ bad. Aw, who was he fooling? Whatever this was, it terrible. He could feel it in his bones.

Oliver braced himself and opened the door. McGonagall sat behind her desk with her elbows propped and her fingers folded like a priest would to pray. Her face was just a stern as always, but somehow, Oliver still knew something was wrong.

"Close the door, please," she said, her voice unrevealing to anything offput. Oliver did as he was told, closing himself up in the room alone with his deputy headmistress.

"Have a seat, Mr. Wood." McGonagall nodded at the chair in front of her desk, the same chair Oliver had sat in twice before.

"I haven't done anything wrong," Oliver said abruptly, fear making his eyes the size of two snitches. "I've been going to the detentions. And I kept my word. I do everything she tells me to."

McGonagall simply sighed, pressed her lips, and repeated herself, her voice just a placid as it was before. "Have a seat, Mr. Wood. Please."

Oliver sighed and timidly say down. This was bad. This was definitely bad. McGonagall closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she was just as nervous about this as Oliver was. Yet when she spoke it was slowly and deliberately.

"Mr. Wood. It has been brought to my attention that Mr. Flint did not attend detention Saturday night. Is this true?"

So this _was_ about Marcus. Yes it was true, but why was she asking him? Surely the only person who had told her about it was Madam Pince. Did McGonagall not believe her? And only this passed Saturday? What about the Saturday before that? Hadn't Madam Pince told her about that too?

"Yes," Oliver agreed, still nervous and uncertain about where this conversation was going. Clearly Marcus was already in trouble. Oliver decided not to mention Marcus's first skive. Evidently, McGonagall didn't know about it. If she did, she would've mentioned it. Right?

McGonagall nodded solemnly, as if this was the answer she was expecting. "I spoke with Mr. Flint earlier today and it seems that he is no longer _comfortable_ serving his detention with you."

Oliver blanched. Marcus had told her.

"Do you know why he might feel that way, Mr. Wood?"

Oliver didn't know how to respond. "He—I—Errm…" Oliver could feel his face heating up. "We _might_ have… _Merlin_ …" Oliver ran a sweaty palm down his face.

"Mr. Wood," McGonagall pressed, her eyebrows raised. Oliver could practically read her thoughts.

 _I asked you a question. Answer me._

Oliver looked down at his hands and spoke so softly he almost didn't hear himself. "He kissed me."

"I'm sorry Oliver, but you'll have to speak up."

"He _kissed_ me," Oliver said a little more forcefully but still quietly. He shuffled around in his seat. Oliver couldn't believed that he'd just said that out loud. He felt like a naughty child sitting before Santa. Oliver forced himself to peep up at McGonagall's expression. The sympathetic concern that she carried outside the library had returned.

"He kissed _you?_ " McGonagall asked, her eyebrows knitted together.

"Yes," Oliver sighed, straightening up in his chair. He may as well get it all out now. "We had a small quarrel in the lavatory over on the third floor and he—kissed me. It was abrupt and… Yeah." Oliver had almost said 'and I liked it', but he had refrain himself. "Then he got scared about it all and ran off." Oliver shrugged. "That's why he's nervous around me. He hasn't looked my way since."

McGonagall frowned, her eyebrows coming impossibly closer together. "You say that like it happened a while ago."

Now Oliver was frowning. This entire conversion was confusing enough but what was that? "It was over a week ago. Last Friday, afternoon. What did Marcus say?"

"According to him, this incident took place Saturday evening. Why do you think he would lie about the date?"

Oliver connected the dots immediately. "Probably because he didn't want to tell you that that's not the first detention he's skived off. It's the second." Oh well. Oliver had to tell it anyway.

McGonagall's eyebrows almost touched her hairline in shock. "Hmmm. Well, the story sure does change when you hear the other side of it. Madam Pince failed to include that piece of information. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't have an answer to that," Oliver replied truthfully. He had absolutely no idea why Madam Pince hadn't said anything. Whatever it was, it had to be something that was benefiting herself, because the evil wench _definitely_ wouldn't do it to help Marcus.

McGonagall took another deep breath. "Well then. I'll have to speak with Irma about it." She cleared her throat and Oliver could tell that their meeting was reaching its climax. "Oliver. As you already know, if a student comes to me with certain information or issues pertaining to their well-being or safety on this campus, as deputy headmistress, it is my duty to investigate it.

"Mr. Flint informed me of his issues earlier today. But let's make sure that I have all of this correct. According to _you,_ Marcus Flint kissed you in the lavatory on the third floor, _last_ Friday evening after the two of you quarreled? Yes?"

Oliver nodded, remaining silent to see where this was going. Because he still didn't understand why he was being forced to humiliate himself in that office.

"Now. According to _Mr. Flint_ , this all happened _Saturday_ evening in the lavatory on the third floor, after you two had a small quarrel. However, according to Mr. Flint," McGonagall paused, her hands still folded. She watched Oliver closely, gauging his response, " _you_ kissed _him._ "

Oliver Blanched. Marcus said what? Had Oliver heard properly? He was stunned. He felt like he'd been confunded. Because what he'd just heard couldn't possibly be what he'd just heard. "I'm—I'm sorry but… could you repeat that?"

McGonagall nodded. "According to Mr. Flint, I believe his exact words were, you shoved him into a wall and snogged him. Mr. Flint then informed me that he kindly asked you stop several times but—"

"But obviously he's lying! When has a Slytherin ever done anything kindly?" Oliver asked his eyes the size of Galleons. "And look at me! I'm almost half his size. His story doesn't even make sense. He left me with a bloody nose—"

"Yes, Oliver," McGonagall said sharply, cutting off the rant she could probably sense coming. "I'm already aware of the several gaping holes in Mr. Flint's story. But this is a serious matter that cannot be taken lightly. Mr. Flint is accusing you of sexual assault. That is grounds for expulsion."

Oliver's heart stopped. "Expuls—? But I haven't done anything." Except develop a foolish infatuation with Marcus Flint.

"Look, Oliver," McGonagall said, the sympathy returning to her voice, leaning forward across her desk to put emphasis on her words. "Completely off the record, I believe you. I've known the both of you for seven years and I know that you would never force yourself on _anyone_. Marcus… I'm not so sure.

"It is my fervent suggestion that you two talk immediately. I am not judging anyone; that is not my place. But I sense that Marcus is allowing something personal to get out of hand. Something that should've remained between the two of you. You must _rein this in_ , Oliver. Because if I or Merlin forbid it, Albus is forced to handle this, Veritaserum will be involved, and someone will be expelled.

"I'm certain that that is neither of your intentions." McGonagall leaned back to sit properly in her chair. "I am going out on a limb and giving you the opportunity to fix this. Nothing will go beyond myself, no one else will else will ever hear of it. _Fix this_ , Oliver _._ "


	8. The Aisle Near the Restricted Section(M)

Oliver left McGonagall's office in a disarray. He didn't know what to do. McGonagall had practically _demanded_ that he speak to Marcus, but how could Oliver do that if Marcus was still avoiding him? How could Oliver help Marcus, when Marcus didn't even know he'd hurt himself?

Because if it all boiled to a head, there was no doubt about it, Marcus would be the one to get expelled. He'd done this to himself. _He'd_ kissed Oliver and he'd taken it upon _himself_ to skip detention. No one forced him to do either of those things. Then he'd drug Oliver into it attempting to cover his own arse. And that thought left Oliver with the most important question of all.

Did he _want_ to help Marcus? Why _should_ he when Marcus had done nothing but hurt him? Hurt himself? He'd verbally and physically abused Oliver, and then gave him the smallest amount of affection, to simply snatch it away immediately afterwards. And then he'd lied about it.

Oliver sighed as he turned corner after corner, just walking. Potions had ended maybe thirty minutes ago and there was another lesson Oliver should be in right now but he didn't care. He just walked. Somehow he wound up outside strolling the school's grounds. It was a gorgeous sunny day. A little cold out though. But Oliver didn't care. He just walked. He didn't even know where he was going.

He _did_ know however, that of course he would help Marcus. Because even though Marcus had done nothing but hurt Oliver, even though Marcus had done nothing to deserve it, for some reason Oliver was still… _what_ with Marcus?

Oliver didn't know what their relationship was anymore. They were no longer enemies. They weren't lovers. They weren't courting each other. But Oliver still felt… _something_ for the older boy. He still wanted to help him. Because allowing Marcus to be expelled would mean that Oliver would possibly never see him again and Oliver couldn't even handle the _thought_ of that.

He _had_ to help Marcus. He was just a frightened boy who didn't know how to help himself. Oliver knew that the Slytherins' infamous cowardice is what had gotten Marcus into the mess in the first place. He'd run away from Oliver in the loo because he was afraid of his feelings. He was afraid to admit that he felt something for Oliver too. And he'd skived off those detentions because he was afraid to face Oliver afterwards. Of _course_ Oliver would help him.

Oliver looked up and found himself standing outside the owlry. Even though his brain didn't know how to go approach this problem, apparently something in him did. It had led him here. Oliver would write Marcus a letter. That was a good place to start. Hogwarts' owls were brilliant so Oliver was certain that Marcus would receive it. Whether or not he would respond…

That thought almost made Oliver give up. But no… Oliver didn't have any other course of action. He stepped into the chilly owlry and received a couple of cheerful hoots from several of the owls, happy to be of service. Oliver avoided owl droppings as he made his way over to the other side of the small room where there was a scroll of parchment mounted on the wall, like muggles mounted their paper towels. Fortunately someone was brilliant enough to put a repelling charm on it or it would undoubtedly be covered in droppings.

Oliver ripped off a sufficient amount and fetched quill and ink from his bag. Then he leaned into the wall and decided to keep it short and simple. Most of everything he had to say needed to be said in person anyway.

 _Marcus,_

 _I spoke with McGonagall and she told me everything. We have to talk._ _I can't help you if you keep avoiding me. Meet me at midnight tonight in the back of the library near the Restricted Section so we can talk this out._

— _Oliver_

—

When Oliver crept away from Gryffindor tower that night, he was so quiet that even the portraits didn't hear him. He peeped around every corner. He wound up performing a lip lock curse on Peeves and a stunning spell on Mrs. Norris. Oliver refused to get caught. Tonight was an important night. He could feel it.

It was precisely midnight when Oliver charmed the library door unlocked and there was no sign of Marcus. What if he couldn't get away? What if just _didn't_ come? Or worse. What if he didn't even read Oliver's letter? Oliver silently tipped over to their rendezvous and cast a precautionary silencing charm. Then by twenty after, he was sitting in the floor with his back against the bookshelf, almost in tears at how foolish he'd been when—

Oliver looked up… and there he was, standing there as if all those days had never happened. As if they were just preparing to serve another detention together. Without a word, Marcus squatted down and settled in a few feet away from Oliver, wrapping his arms around his knees. He'd brought his typical stiff demeanor with him, but Oliver could tell that he was only using it to hide his nerves.

Marcus peered around the dark aisle, the books and shelves illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through the wide windows. He looked at any and everything that wasn't Oliver.

Oliver had so many things he wanted to say to Marcus. But those thing were based on fury, from when Marcus was avoiding him. Things were different. Now that Oliver finally had the older boy in front of him, he didn't know where to begin.

"Thanks for coming." Oliver smiled weakly. That was a lame start but at least it was something.

Marcus finally turned his gaze to Oliver and simply glared at him for a second. Then, as if he were tired of fighting, he sighed and slumped his shoulders. "It's not like I had a choice. I can't keep avoiding you forever. I don't want to be expelled. I never wanted anyone to get into any trouble I just—"

"It's okay," Oliver said consolingly, scooting closer. A piece of his heart smiled when Marcus didn't scoot away. "I understand. You were just scared. Neither of us is going to get expelled. Okay? We can fix this."

"Why are you helping me?" Marcus frowned. "I've done nothing but hurt you."

"Because you need it." Oliver scooted forward again. If he reached his arm out, he could touch Marcus. "And because I… I don't understand it… but I like you. Like… I _fancy_ you." Oliver stared the older boy in his eyes. It was so terrifying opening himself up like that. Still, Oliver slid even closer. He reached out for Marcus's hand and melted when Marcus allowed him to hold it. "I can't bare the thought of never seeing you again if you get expelled."

Marcus looked down at their fingers laced together like a surprised a child, like he couldn't believe it was happening. Then his voice came out in bemused whisper. "Really?" Oliver wasn't sure if he meant 'Are we really holding hands' or 'Do you you really feel that way', so he just smiled and nodded an agreement to both questions.

"Why did you kiss me Marcus?" Oliver's voice was so quiet. But with the silencing charm around them, it didn't matter. Every sound inside their little bubble was like a firework, a beautiful display for no one but the two of them. Oliver gazed into those penetrating silver eyes.

"Because I… I think I fancy you too. And that bloody _terrifies_ me. I don't want to be a pansy."

"Then we won't call it that," Oliver assured him. "Honestly, I don't really know what we are anyway, but I want to explore this. I want to explore _us_." He watched Marcus, gauging his reaction. "And I want you to know that I forgive you."

Marcus sighed and pulled his hand away from Oliver's. He looked down at his knees. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."

Oliver's heart almost shattered. He reached out and gently gripped Marcus's chin, turning the older boy's head back to him. Then he took a brave step that could possibly shatter the moment they had and timidly leaned, gauging the older boy's reaction. When Marcus didn't flinch away, Oliver smiled and gently kissed the older boy. It was short, sweet, and tender.

"But you have it anyway," Oliver whispered. He gently pulled at Marcus's legs and the larger boy straightened them out for Oliver. Then Oliver straddled his lap and kissed him again.

Things became very hazy for Oliver after that. Marcus's lips seemed to have that effect on Oliver because he wasn't sure exactly when Marcus hands had found his arse, when they'd started to squeeze his cheeks. He wasn't exactly sure _when_ he'd begun to grind into the older boy's lap. But he could feel their erections rubbing together through their trousers all the same.

"Mmngh… Oliver…" Oliver soaked it in. He soaked up his name coming from the older boy in a moan like that. Oliver smiled on his lips. Then their tongues touched and Oliver was melting. Marcus Flint was causing new feelings to arise in his body. Arousal at an intensity that Oliver had never felt before. Oliver didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he swiftly reached his hand down Marcus's trouser fronts, wrapping his hand around the thick shaft.

And Marcus was coming. Just like that, hard and heavy. "Ongh! Ungh! Oliver!" Marcus twitched and trembled beneath Oliver while, the white liquid poured out of him in torrents. Oliver could feel it pouring into his hand while he continued to pump Marcus's thick prick, pulling it out of him. It was the quietest most exciting climax Oliver had ever witnessed.

When Marcus completely spent himself, the two boys sat there in the aisle at the back of the library, panting and staring into each other's eyes. Oliver's hand still wrapped around Marcus's softening dick. Marcus bit the corner of his lower lip and Oliver thought it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen the boy do. Then Marcus fondled Oliver's still throbbing member through his trousers and reached for his waistband, fumbling with the fastenings.

"You don't have to do that," Oliver whispered.

"But I want to," Marcus whispered, rubbing Oliver through his trousers. He didn't even have to make skin contact. Oliver could feel it—

And he burst in his trousers, moaning Marcus's name. Then the two of them stared deeply at each other, silver and hazel. Had they really just done that?

Yes. Yes they had.


	9. An Exchange of Hearts (M)

Ironically enough, considering both of them had grown thoroughly sick of place, the library became their rendezvous. They would meet there in the wee hours of the morning, late enough that the door had unlocked itself, but early enough that Madam Pince wasn't awake. They'd creep in and hide along the same aisle near the Restricted Section.

Oliver did his first of many things in that aisle. He said, "I love you," to someone that wasn't his parents. It slipped out during a fierce snogging session and Oliver realized he meant it. He loved Marcus Flint, a Slytherin boy. Oliver exchanged hearts with someone for the first time in that aisle.

Oliver talked about his feelings in that aisle. He expressed his qualms and aspirations to someone who listened and cared. He told Marcus about how if he didn't become a professional Quidditch player, he didn't know what else he wanted to do with his life and that scared him. Marcus told him that the future was intimidating like that sometimes. He told Oliver that all they could do was holds hands, live, and brave through it together.

Oliver held a crying man for the first time in that aisle. He listened to Marcus's story of growing up, never doing anything good enough for his father's approval. He listened as the boy's eyes and heart wept. He learned that all Slytherins aren't bad people, that Marcus had only allowed himself to be sorted into the house to appease his father. Oliver told Marcus that if he based his decisions off of what other people thought of them his entire life, if he attempted to make them happy, then he would never be happy himself.

Oliver touched an arse that wasn't his own for the first time. Marcus had grabbed Oliver's hand and planted it there, only saying one word. "Squeeze." Oliver complied, eliciting a deep moan from the older boy and they dove back into their snogging.

Oliver gave and received a blow job for the first time in that aisle. He gave first. It happened on the night that they finished up their detention. After they finally knocked out the last corner, Marcus cast a silencing charm and Oliver didn't need to be told what that meant. Madam Pince never bothered them but it was just precautionary measure. The moonlight was bright in the window, peeping over the trees of the Forbidden Forest while the two of them snogged and groped.

"You don't have to do that," Marcus whispered when he saw Oliver's head going down.

"I want to. I want to make you feel good. Will you let me do that for you?" Marcus bit his lip in that sexy way he always did and nodded. It was a compulsive thing. He didn't even know what it did to Oliver.

And then Oliver had a thick shaft in his mouth and Marcus was holding back deep guttural moans. Oliver tried to swallow all of the long member, but it was too much. He wound up working the lower half with his hand. Marcus ran his fingers through Oliver's hair as soft moans escaped him.

"Oh fuck… Oliver… That feels bloody amazing… Mngh…" Oliver could feel him thrusting his hips upwards and he tried again, determined this time. He moved his hand out of the way and opened his throat, going down, down, down on the dick until his nose pressed into Marcus's pubic hairs where he found a strong woodsy smell. Oliver could feel the dick deep in his throat.

Marcus let out a string of soft swear words mingled in with his deep moans and then— "Oliver come off! Come off I'm comin—Oliver!"

But Oliver wanted it. He wanted to taste it. He gave one final hard suck, like he was pulling a thick liquid through a straw and he felt a warm fluid burst into his mouth. It was tangy and sour, but not completely unpleasant. Oliver sifted it around on his tongue for a small moment to get the texture of it. It felt... almost like a loogie, but not quite. When he was satisfied, he swallowed and looked up at a smiling Marcus.

The boy's eyelids were heavy, like he'd drunk a sleeping potion. "That was brilliant… I can't believe you _swallowed_ it..." He bit those sexy lips again. Then, "Your turn. Lay back and make way."

Oliver smiled widely and complied, allowing Marcus to unbutton his trousers. And moments later, Oliver was experiencing the best thing he ever had. Marcus was swallowing Oliver, providing inexplicably amazing pleasure to the head of his prick. Oliver instinctively ran his fingers through the hair at the back of Marcus's head and slowly pushed himself deeper down the older boys throat.

Marcus gagged and popped off the long prick, a bit of slob dribbling down his chin. "I'm so sorry!" Oliver said, his brows almost touching each other from concern. "I didn't mean to! Your mouth is just so good." Oliver bit his lip thinking about it.

Marcus wiped the spittle from his chin with the back of his hand and a small smile breached a corner of his lips. "Is it?"

Oliver could see the lack of confidence all over the Slytherins face, the surprise that he might actually be good at it. "It's bloody amazing," Oliver assured him.

"Yeah?" Marcus asked, still clearly a little dubious. He gave Oliver's prick a light squeeze, and the Gryffindor clenched his eyes.

"Mngh..." Oliver moaned. "Give it to me again."

"You want my hot mouth?" Marcus asked, his smile growing broader as he grew more confident. " You want me to swallow your fat prick?"

"Please, Marcus." Oliver looked down at the older boy with a lustful hunger in his eyes. Marcus bit his lip in that way that set Oliver on fire, amd then went back down and Oliver was forcing himself not buck his hips up. He clenched at the hardwood floor, his fingers making no purchase. Marcus sucked at him and sucked, taking as much of the Gryffindor as he could manage until—

With a sharp cry from the younger boy, Oliver's entire body tensed with his climax and his warm seed spilled into Marcus's mouth. The Slytherin fervently sucked it all out of him and swallowed it. Then the two boy sat there grinning at each other like the inexperienced idiots they were.

—

In that aisle, Oliver learned that, when it came to intimate matters, Marcus was very verbal about his likes and dislikes. He didn't like his nipples to be touched and he didn't like for his hair to be pulled. He loved back and shoulder rubs but hated foot rubs. He loved to be deep throated and he loved to deep throat Oliver.

Because of this openness about what he wanted, it didn't take long for Marcus to ask Oliver to bend him over. They had snuck out late one night to meet up again in their spot. Marcus had charmed the door unlocked and Oliver had the larger boy's back pressed into the end of the bookshelf and he stood between the boy's legs. They were snogging and groping like something fierce, slowly moving things forward when Marcus broke off.

"Oliver." He bit his lip timidly. "I want you to fuck me." Oliver would do anything for Marcus when he bit his lip like that.

"Are you sure?" Oliver asked just as timid as Marcus. He stared into the older boy's eyes. As excited as Oliver was about it and as much as he thought about doing it, he wouldn't pretend to not be nervous. What if he did it wrong? What if he hurt Marcus?

"I'm sure. I—" Marcus stammered and blushed a deep red, staring down at his shoes. Oliver could tell that he was nervous about this too. "I—I… I prepared myself for you. I'm squeaky clean." Oliver watched as Marcus slowly pulled his trousers and pants down his thighs, his prick huge, even when it was flaccid. Marcus pulled the garments off his ankles and tossed them to the side. Then he turned and bent forward, leaning into the bookshelf, peeping over his shoulder at Oliver.

"I want to feel you inside of me," he whispered.

Oliver ogled the gorgeous piece of artwork on display for him, completely naked from the waist down. Marcus's backside was round and perfect. And fat. Marcus's bubble butt cheeks were so plump they were practically screaming for a dick to be in between them. When he tentatively stepped forward and spread the slightly hairy cheeks, he could see the little pink hole shiny and ready for him. Oliver imagined Marcus fingering himself, stretching his hole out and his already stiff dick got impossibly harder at the image.

Oliver timidly reached a finger in and rubbed at the little hole, eliciting a moan from Marcus. He took that as a confirmation and slipped his longest finger inside the slippery hole. Oliver felt Marcus tense and he froze.

"Is that okay?" He asked. Had he hurt Marcus?

"Yeah," Marcus replied, his voice a little tight. "Just warn me next time." He didn't sound like it was okay.

"I can stop if you want." Oliver was already removing his finger from the tight hole, but Marcus reached back and grabbed his wrist.

"No, just… If you curl your finger down, you'll find a—Merlin!" Marcus trembled in front of Oliver. "You'll find that!"

Oliver could feel a little knot under his finger and he poked and rubbed at it. "This thing?"

"Yes!" Marcus was trembling uncontrollably, his deep moans, almost like growls, permeating the area. "That's the spot… Oliver, yes… Fuck me. I want it."

Oliver couldn't believe this was happening. He was about to have sex. He was so nervous. How would he perform? Would he be good enough? There was only one way to find out. He dropped his trousers to his ankles and lined his stiff pink head up with the tight little hole. Marcus was taller and therefore had to squat a little for the position to work.

"Are you ready?" Oliver whispered.

"Yes," Marcus whispered back, peeping over his shoulder in a way that he probably didn't even know was seductive. "Give it to me."

Oliver gripped Marcus's waistline, pushed through the firm muscle, and found a new meaning to life.

Ecstasy!

"Mngh!" Marcus moaned a tight startled moan when he felt Oliver breaching him. "Fuck Oliver..." Instinct took over, Oliver gripped Marcus tightly by his hips, and pushed in deeply until his cock found it's way home. "Wait, wait, wait... You're so thick..."

As much as he wanted to move, and much as he wanted to feel the delicious heat wrapped around him stroking his prick, Oliver forced himself to remain still, simply nestled in Marcus's tight arse. He didn't want to hurt Marcus. But he didn't want to pull out either. It was too good to pull out. So he simply stroked a soothing hand over the older boy's side.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Yeah," Marcus responded, his voice tight. "Just go slow. Okay?"

Oliver was as gentle on Marcus as he could be, but the older boy was so tight and timid. After only a few heavenly, yet achingly slow strokes, Oliver could tell from Marcus's deep grunts of discomfort and from the way he clutched at the bookshelf, that the Slytherin wasn't enjoying himself. And Oliver didn't want that. He wanted Marcus to enjoy this as much as he was.

Oliver was certain that he was doing something wrong. Marcus has been moaning from pleasure before. He had enjoyed it when Oliver had used his finger. Maybe they weren't in a good position. Maybe Oliver's prick couldn't get to the little knot inside Marcus coming from this angle. So Oliver decided to try a new tactic.

Against everything his body was telling him, Oliver pulled out of the warm cacn. Marcus didn't stop Oliver this time. He sighed and visibly relaxed when Oliver slipped out of him. "I want to try something else," Oliver whispered, relaying his thoughts. "I want you to enjoy this too."

"It's okay," Marcus replied. "I want to make you feel good. It wasn't that bad." But Oliver could tell the older boy was lying. So Oliver laid on his back in the floor of the aisle, his still stiff prick standing at attention for Marcus.

"Why don't you sit on it?" Oliver suggested, a hint of seduction in his tone. "I think this angle will be good for both of us. And this way you're in control."

Marcus's unconfident smile returned as he looked down at Oliver lying there with his trousers around his ankles. He bit his lips in that way he did and then lowered his broad body atop Oliver, straddling the slimmer boy's hips. It was like fire when their skin touched and Oliver's thick dick found a resting point in between Marcus fat arse cheeks. Not back in that tight heat yet, but just resting between the cheeks.

"I'm just going to lie here," Oliver whispered. "I want you to take your time. Okay?" Marcus nodded, his face still giving his nerves away. The Slytherin leaned in and kissed Oliver, a soft peck and then reached back and lined Oliver up again. Then he slowly and timidly say on the dick.

Oliver sqeezed Marcus's hips from his achingly slow pace, but once again, he forced himself not to buck his hips up. But from this angle, with Marcus leaning over Oliver's chest the way he was, and his back arched the way it was, Marcus's perfect arse stuck up and out and Oliver's prick easily found that little knot again.

Marcus's eyes rolled in the back of his head and he trembled, completely sinking on the thick dick. Then he set a swift pace in Oliver's lap, making the younger boy smack into his prostate with every stroke. Marcus's arse seemed to defy the laws of physics as it practically sucked Oliver's prick in. It looked like it shouldn't be able to fit in there. But it did. And it felt amazing.

"You okay?" Oliver caressed Marcus's plump arse cheeks while he unconsciously pumped his hips upwards into the larger boy.

"Yes," Marcus responded, his voice laced with pleasure. There was no way Oliver could mistake it for anything else. Marcus trembled and panted on top of him. "Yes. Oh bloody hell… Fuck…" Marcus had begun to rock fiercly in Oliver's lap and there was no denying that Oliver was thrusting up into Marcus even though he'd promised to simply lie there. The added pressure, the friction was too much. He was so deep in warm, tight, Slytherin arse.

"Mngh… Fuck!" Oliver's voice came out tight, as if he were struggling for breath. "Marcus I'm coming…" Oliver pulled Marcus's down to his chest and wrapped his arms around the larger boy. He was practically pounding up into Marcus, making those plump cheeks jiggle and—

"Fuck!" The two of them cried out together as they burst their loads in unison, Oliver deep inside Marcus's arse, and Marcus—without anyone ever touching his prick—all over Oliver's uniform. Oliver had just lost his virginity in the aisle near the Restricted Section.


	10. Three Holidays

For once, Oliver wasn't looking forward to the holidays. Kind of. Of course he missed his parents and wanted to see them, and of course he was looking forward to the lack of schoolwork, but it also meant two weeks without Marcus. Oliver barely saw him as it was. The clandestine meetings were slowly beginning to grow annoying to Oliver. He had to constantly remind himself that in a few more months they would both be finished with Hogwarts and they'd be able to go wherever they pleased whenever they pleased.

It was Marcus who suggested it. On the Friday morning before vacation where they sat on the floor cuddled up in their spot. Oliver wanted to shag like something fierce, considering this would probably be their last opportunity before they were separated for half a month, but Marcus only wanted to talk. If that's what made him happy, then that was enough for Oliver. He sat in between the older boy's legs, wrapped in his arms.

"So what are you doing for your break?" Marcus asked.

"The usual," Oliver responded. He caressed the back of Marcus's hand with his index finger. "We'll go to Birmingham and spend the two weeks with me mum's parents. Nothing too exciting; it's the same every year. What will you do?"

There was a short pause. Short, yes, but so long that Oliver stopped stroking. He'd almost decided to turn and look at Marcus. Was something wrong?

"I was thinking of spending the holidays with you," Marcus finally responded tentatively. Oliver froze as the words settled into his brain. Vacation with Marcus? Oliver hadn't even considered it. But the thought of it sounded brilliant. Oliver pictured them alone at an inn somewhere. They could be together all day, without worry of anyone seeing them. Oliver turned to stare Marcus in his eyes.

"Are you serious?" he whispered.

"Very. We could go to Amsterdam," Marcus persuaded, mistaking Oliver's question for hesitation. "Or Paris? How's your Italian? Rome, Milan, Venice. Verona?"

As pleasant at it all sounded, reality pushed the fantasies away. "I can't do that, Marcus," Oliver replied despondently. "My parents would wonder why I chose to spend my holidays with a boy instead of with them. Won't yours?" Oliver stared at the floor despondently. "And we can't explain it."

"Then we won't tell them." Marcus said it as if it were the simplest solution and he was surprised that Oliver didn't think of it. "We'll go home, drop off our trunks, and slip off in the middle of the night. Face the consequences when we get back. You forget that I've been apparating for over a year. I'm much better at it than you. I can take us all over Europe."

"Marcus," Oliver sighed. "I can't do that to my parents. _Yes_ , I'm seventeen and technically I'm an adult. But still, I can't just _disappear_ on them. They'd be worried sick."

Marcus was quiet for a second, and then, "It's okay." He kissed the top of Oliver's head. "I just didn't want to spend two weeks away from you."

Oliver squeezed Marcus's hand. "I don't want to either but—"

Marcus silenced him with a sideways kiss. "It's okay. Really. I'll see you when you get back." And that was the end of the conversation. They held each other a little longer until they heard Madam Pince rustle awake for the day.

—

The train ride the next morning was miserable. When he met his parents on the platform he hugged them both, but it was half hearted. Try as he may, Oliver couldn't shake his despondency. It followed him to Birmingham and stuck with him.

On the third day, Mrs. Wood kindly confronted him. She found Oliver sitting alone in her parents' snow filled garden.

"It's cold out here," she said. "Why don't you come inside?"

Oliver kicked at the snow. "I'll be in in a moment. I just want to think."

Mrs. Wood sighed and smiled at her son. She lowered herself on the bench next to him. "So. What's his name?"

"Excuse me?" Oliver's eyebrows almost touched each other. Had he heard correctly?

Her smile grew larger and more loving. "You've been moping around since you came home, love. Staring off in the distance. I watched you grow up and I've been where you are. I know that face. I know _you_." She took her son's hands into her own "What's his name?"

"You don't care?" Oliver asked tentatively. His mother was so observant. Of course she'd figured him out. "You don't care that he's… that's he's a _he?_ "

"No," she smiled. "I still love you all the same. It's not my place to judge. You want to be with him right now, don't you?"

Oliver looked down at their hands timidly. Then he nodded solemnly. "I want to be here, too. I _do._ But mum it _hurts_ being away from him. I'm already counting down the days until we're together again."

Mrs. Wood frowned with concern. "How long have you been seeing him?"

"A couple of months. Almost three," Oliver answered.

She moaned an understanding moan, a sound that only a mother could make. "Mngh… So things are getting _serious?_ "

"Yes, mum," Oliver replied sincerely. It felt good to admit that to someone. He wasn't sure, but it _sounded_ like his mother was asking if he was having sex or not. So Oliver added a little more. "I love him. I love him _a lot_."

"Oh wow… It _is_ serous." Mrs. Woods stared at her son with wide eyes for a moment, and Oliver took it that she understood completely. Then she regained her composure and smiled again. "Well I want to meet this boy." Oliver was sure that she wouldn't after she found out who he was. "But until then, you should go to him. I hate seeing you like this."

Oliver stared at his mother amazed. "Really?"

"Yes. Go. I'll explain to your father."

"But you don't even know who he is. Or where I'm going."

She cradled her son's face. "It doesn't matter. I trust your judgment."

Oliver pulled his mother into his arms. He never fathomed that she would be so understanding. "I love you so much mum."

"And I love you. Now go. Before your father catches wind of this. And be safe." Oliver wasn't sure if she meant be _physically_ safe or be _sexually_ safe. But he wasn't going to ask.

"I'll come back before the break ends," he promised. "Thank you mum." They gave each other one last parting smile and Oliver turned on the spot, vanishing.

After the compressing feeling of being squeezed through a tube, Oliver's feet slammed onto the bricked walkway of Diagon Alley. He hastily checked himself over, then smiled and exhaled deeply when he found that he had just completed his third successful apparition. The first few times had been... Oliver shuddered at the memory, then set a quick pace for Gringotts. He didn't know exactly where, but he knew that the Flint's residence was in London, so after grabbing a few Galleons, he would kip with Tom until he could find Marcus.

It was surprisingly easy. Oliver only had to pay for one night at the Leaky Cauldron—though he and Marcus still made _good_ use of the bed. All it took was a silver patronus message and Marcus was knocking on the door of Oliver's room a half an hour later.

Oliver shoved himself so far inside the larger boy, he felt like his prick would get lost in him. They laughed— _laughed_ when their neighbors bammed on the wall and yelled for them to quiet down. When he spent himself inside of Marcus and Marcus all over the sheets, they cuddled up next to each other in the small bed, and Oliver smiled. He felt like his vacation had finally begun.

—

Marcus took them to Dublin first. They went shopping for muggle clothes, assuming they posed less a chance of running into someone they knew if they spent most of their time in the muggle world. They discovered how wrong they were at pub in the lower parts of the city where Marcus spotted a few of their classmates. The two of them made a hasty exit. After that, Oliver seemed to spot familiar faces everywhere. Hannah Abbott in a plaza, Alicia Spinnett at an eatery. Marcus decided that maybe they were a little too close to home.

So Marcus took them to Milan. They had a candlelit dinner at a gay friendly restaurant in a romantic part of town. Holding Marcus's hand in public, kissing him without worrying that people would gawk or insult them was more than anything Oliver could ask for.

Marcus took them to Barcelona after that. The city was crawling with excitement and there was plenty of things to do. Oliver learned that Marcus was a pretty decent dancer. Marcus learned that Oliver was terrible. The two of them didn't stay there long though because neither of them could speak Spanish very well.

Oliver made one of his best memories on a beach in Bari. It was cold, so there was no one else out. Oliver laid a blanket out and Marcus performed a simple heating charm. Then Oliver let Marcus top him for the first time. Marcus was so tender with him, a gentle giant but stretching him open all the same, so deep inside of him.

Oliver didn't know what he'd been so afraid of. Marcus's long, thick dick slid smoothly into Oliver, nice and deep like it was meant to be there. He could feel the thick monster pulsating while it slid in and out of him, stretching him open impossibly wide, and he loved every bit of it. Oliver enjoyed himself, yes. But Oliver enjoyed the fact that he was pleasuring Marcus more. That it was him making the masculine man on top of him moan that way. He wrapped his arms and legs around Marcus, letting the older boy have all of him. The best part was when Marcus squirmed and released his heavy load so deep inside all over it would probably take days to get it out.

They went to Bologna, Genoa, and all of the southern French coast. Then they slowly made their way back to London, stopping in La Rochelle, Nantes, Southampton. And throughout their voyage, they learned a lot about each other.

Oliver discovered that Marcus was a very neat and clean person. He folded his clothes whenever he took them off for a shower and he washed his hands several times a day. He didn't quite fit the stereotype that Oliver had for Slytherins and his organization could get a little compulsive and annoying at times. But Oliver still loved him all the same.

Marcus discovered that when Quidditch wasn't involved, Oliver would go two, sometimes three days without showering. He would just change clothes, apply antiperspirants and go about his day. It annoyed Marcus to an unfamiliar level of intensity. Sometimes he would force Oliver to wash up before they shagged, refusing to let Oliver touch him until he was clean. But Marcus was still madly in love with him. As their break ended, they were both honestly a little sad to go back to school.


	11. Marcus Flint, A Slytherin Boy

As he promised, Oliver stopped by his home in Aberdeen before his vacation ended. He casually strolled through his front door like he always did. His mother looked up from the book she read and greeted him with a warm smile. She thumbed her page absentmindedly and rose to hug her son.

Mr. Wood looked over his Daily Prophet and greeted Oliver with a deep frown. Then he tucked his head away back behind the paper and blatantly ignored his son. So his mother had broken the news. Mr. Wood's reaction stung and Oliver wouldn't try to hide it. His shoulders slumped a little while he returned his mother's hug.

"He'll come around," she whispered in Oliver's ear, giving him an affectionate squeeze.

Oliver hoped so. He loved his father and though he was always pleased to have the man's approval, Oliver didn't need it to be happy. He squared his shoulders and prepared for the worst when Marcus stepped through the front door behind him.

Mrs. Wood gasped when she instantly recognised the boy. Marcus Flint, a former Death Eater's son. Then she broke into a wide smile and to both of the boys' surprise, she hugged him just as tightly as she hugged Oliver. Marcus hugged back, blushing at the woman's proximity. Oliver simply stood by astounded.

When Mrs. Wood released Marcus, she took his hands in hers with a smile so large and genuine it looked like it hurt. "It is such a pleasure to meet you! Flint, isn't it?"

"Yes," Marcus blushed. "But please call me Marcus."

"Marcus," Mrs. Wood said, as if testing the name on her tongue. Then she smiled again and ushered both the boys further inside. "Well come inside. Sit, sit. I'll go make tea." And she bustled off to the kitchen.

Leaving them alone with Mr. Wood was her first mistake.

Oliver hadn't even realized that his father had put his paper down. He stared at them both intensely, scowling as they sat on the sofa across from the chair he occupied. His relentless frown never relaxed. It was so intense, Oliver feared that it may be permanently plastered across his face from that day forward. Maybe bringing Marcus wasn't such a great idea.

"So this is the _bloke_ you've been shagging," he snapped nastily at Oliver. "A Slytherin?"

Yes. Bringing Marcus had been a _huge_ mistake. " _Dad,_ " Marcus sighed, embarrassed. "Those are the first words you say to me after _months_ apart?"

"What? It's _true_ isn't it? You've been shagging him."

Oliver blushed a deep scarlet. "Yes… But you make it sound like it's… like it's…." Oliver wound up fumbling for words.

"Like it's _what?_ " Mr. Wood spat. "Like it's _dirty?_ _Wrong?_ That's because it _is!_ " Oliver was getting a little angry now. "So are you just _not_ going to play Quidditch anymore?"

Marcus and Oliver both frowned. " _What?_ Where did that come from?"

"Well pansies don't play sports!" Mr. Wood said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

" _What?!_ " Oliver repeated. "That's ridiculous! And _insulting!_ "

"Now, now," Mrs. Wood intervened, coming back into the room with a tray of tea and cookies and breaking the tension. "Let's not argue. Eric, behave yourself!"

And looking like he'd rather do anything but, Mr. Wood accepted the tea his wife offered and sealed his lips.

Marcus had practically balled up into himself on the sofa next to Oliver, but he took his tea with a kind, "Thank you," when it was offered to him. Oliver could tell that he wanted to leave.

When Mrs. Wood reached him with the tea, Oliver declined as kindly as he could with his anger escalating the way it was. "Thank you, mum. But I think that Marcus and I will go now. I'll see you on my next break."

"No! I want to hear about your trip!" Mrs. Wood insisted, forcing the tea into her son's hand. She smiled warmly and sat the tray on the small table between the sofa and the chair, next the Prophet, then she settled herself on the arm of her husband's chair, completely ignoring the scowling man. "Where did you two go? Did you have fun?"

Insisting that they stay was her second and final mistake.

Oliver loved his mother so much. Her warm smile calmed him down a little and he broke into the story of their escapades, with Mrs. Wood nodding and laughing in all the right places. Marcus had even relaxed a little next to Oliver and pitched in a few words whenever the younger boy left something interesting out. Though he'd already been reprimanded by his wife, Mr. Wood continued to shake his head, scowling and mumbling things periodically throughout their tale.

"…slimy _Slytherin…_ " Mrs. Wood would send a warning scowl at her husband, and that would silence him for only a short moment, then he'd mumble something again. On the third one Oliver broke.

"Can't believe my son's a _bloody_ pansy…"

"That's _it!_ " Oliver snapped, bursting to his feet, startling both Mrs. Wood and Marcus. Mrs. Wood flinched and spilled her tea all over the floor. "That's it! I won't continue to sit here and listen to you mumble your disapprovals!"

"Well then there's the door!" Mr. Wood spat in response, rising to his feet as well. "Because I will _not_ be silenced in my own home!"

"Eric!" Mrs. Wood cried, trying and failing to intervene. "Oliver! The both of you sit down this instant!" They both ignored her.

"It's _my home too!_ And I don't deserve to be treated this way! There is nothing wr—"

"We have a _guest_ in our home!"

"Yes you do you bloody pansy! How _dare_ you bring a nasty Death Eater back here! And this won't be your home much longer if you keep up this foolish lifestyle! Associating with the likes of—"

Mrs. Wood gasped. " _Eric!_ He doesn't mean that, Oliver—"

"WELL THEN I MAY A WELL LEAVE NOW! BECAUSE I'M NOT CHANGING!"

"FINE THEN! GET OUT AND DON'T COME BACK!"

The room suddenly grew eerily silent. They could've heard a needle drop. Oliver glared at his father, the both of them heaving like bulls. Then he glanced at his mother despondently.

"You should've let us leave." He grabbed Marcus's hand and hastily pulled him out the front door.


	12. Leaks From the Leaky Cauldron (M)

Marcus didn't go home. Apparently he'd left a note telling his parents exactly where he was going. _Exactly._ Now, after witnessing Mr. Wood's reaction, Marcus was afraid to go back. He sent an owl to his mother and he and Oliver got another room at the Leaky Cauldron for the last night of their break.

When they were finally alone, Oliver dropped his defenses, let down every barrier and allowed himself to cry. Marcus wrapped Oliver up in his arms and held him tightly while he cried into the larger boy's shoulder. No words were exchanged between the two. Oliver simply cried.

How could his father treat him that way? How could he say those things? The entire encounter had been terrible, much worse than anything Oliver could've ever imagined. He wished with everything in him that his mother had just let him and Marcus leave.

Oliver slowly removed Marcus's robes, kissing the older boy's neck. He needed a distraction. Oliver didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to hurt.

"I love you," Marcus whispered, wiping tears away. "I love you so much, Oliver. I'll never let anyone or anything come in between us." Then he pecked Oliver's lips a few time and let the smaller boy have him.

Marcus laid back in the small bed and let Oliver pulled his trousers down his thighs and off his legs, that impressive prick that Oliver loved popping out. Marcus let the slimmer boy crawl in between his strong legs as he wiped a few more stray tears from his face.

Marcus didn't even see Oliver take his trousers off. Maybe he had spelled them off. Marcus simply knew that the lovely feeling of a bare prick rubbing against his own was happening in his nether regions. His breaths became disconnected, they shuddered when Oliver planted wet, tear streaked kisses along his neck. He was already moaning Oliver's name and Oliver hadn't even—

"Mmnugh!" There it was. Without any warning, Oliver had smoothly slipped his fat prick deep inside Marcus, stretching him open in a way that made him see stars. Oliver set up a sensual pace, sliding his member along Marcus's walls, making the larger boy wrap his arms and legs around the slimmer frame.

"Oliver… _Fuck…_ "

It was so good, Marcus couldn't even form complete words. He just moaned broken syllables in Oliver's ear that wound up sounding like gibberish. He could feel Oliver's long girth stretching him open, penetrating deep inside of him. Marcus simply moaned and wrapped himself tighter around Oliver, rocking in the small bed.

The headboard banged and thumped against the wall but Marcus didn't care. Let the neighbours bam on the walls. Let them yell. Marcus was in heaven. Nothing could distract him from the feel of Oliver's light body on top him, from the noises he elicited from the younger boy. Oliver was his and he was Oliver's.

Marcus came first. Then he let Oliver spend himself. The two of them quickly fell asleep in that position soon afterwards, Oliver still lying atop Marcus.

—

The ride back to Hogwarts the following day was long. Oliver sat in a compartment with the twins and Angelina Johnson, completely oblivious of the conversation going on around him. He hadn't realized he been staring out the window, lost in his thoughts for the passed ten minutes, until one of the twins poked him in the side to get his attention.

"Are you feeling well, Oliver?" Fred asked. Or was it George? Oliver wasn't sure.

"Yeah," Oliver lied. He was _far_ from feeling well. Oliver had so much on his mind. His mother had tried reasoning with her husband but the bigoted man was adamant. Oliver was no longer welcome in their home. When he finished school, he didn't know where he would go.

But Oliver didn't mention any of this to his friends. He simply pulled himself back into the compartment, and tried to be a part of the conversation, wishing he could be with Marcus instead.

He noticed the staring for the first time when they reached Hogwarts. He was certain that everyone was watching him, that a few of the Slytherins were sneering at him a bit more than usual, though he never caught anyone in the act. Though Oliver loved every minute of it and would do it all over again, he was now realizing that their vacation together _may_ not have been the best idea. Maybe they could've been a little more discreet. Honestly _anyone_ could have seen them. Hadn't they crossed a few familiar faces themselves? Oliver trusted his mother _wholeheartedly_ and his father would've been too embarrassed to say anything to someone.

It could've been Tom. Oliver personally knew how much of a gossip that man was. Kipping at the Leaky Cauldron had been foolish. He was beginning to think he was just being paranoid when Angelina Johnson approached him on the walk back to the castle after practice. She was completely casual about it, as if she were asking about the roast they'd had for dinner.

"So it true? Are you dating Marcus Flint?"

Oliver blanched. He _knew_ he wasn't mad. Everyone _was_ looking at him. The Slytherins _were_ sneering more than usual. And now here Angelina was butting her nose in, probably to get some more gossip to spread. Oliver instantly grew defensive.

"Yeah, I am," he snapped. No sense in denying it. Evidently it was already out now. "What's it to you?"

Her eyes grew the size of Galleons and she raised her hands in a show of surrender **.**

"Whoa there," she said. "I just wanted to squash some rumours. I don't care _who_ you date. Even if he's a slimy Slytherin." She imitated gagging, and Oliver had to smile. His smile seemed to relax her and she smiled in return.

"Seriously though," she continued, cupping his shoulder affectionately. "You're a brilliant captain and I consider you one of my closest friends. The fact that you fancy blokes doesn't change anything. I'll see you at dinner." Then she smiled and walked ahead of him without looking back.


	13. Something Like Rage

That night when Oliver crept into the library to see Marcus, Oliver made the biggest mistake of his life. He allowed the worst to happen. He'd kissed Marcus in greeting and they were holding each other, when he opened the big mouth that he should've kept shut.

"Angelina Johnson asked if we were seeing each other," Oliver told the floor. "I told her the truth."

"You _what?_ " Marcus blanched. He cocked his head to the side, as if he hadn't heard Oliver properly.

Oliver frowned, looking up at him. "She _blatantly_ asked. What was I supposed to say? I couldn't _lie_ to her."

"And why the hell _not?_ " Marcus asked incredulously, his voice rising a little. "I've been lying about it all day. You think no one's asked me the same question?"

Oliver's jaw dropped as those worse sank in. "You've be denying me?" he asked, the hurt obvious in his voice.

"Of _course_ I have!" Marcus spat indignantly. "I thought you would do the same! I thought we were on the same page! No one is supposed to know about us!"

Before he could stop it, Oliver's face twisted into a scowl, as if the other boy had just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Marcus they already do! There's no point in denying it!" Oliver said, his voice rising a little too. "You should've thought about that _before_ you apparated me all over Europe for any and everyone to see!"

"I wasn't expecting to run into anyone we _knew!_ " Marcus explained.

"Well we _did,_ " Oliver snapped. "And you shagged me in the _Leaky Cauldron_ of all places, Marcus! We don't know who our neighbors were! You never think things _through._ "

Marcus groaned furiously and rubbed his hands down his face in frustration. Oliver sighed. He could feel himself getting upset. He spoke softly, as if speaking to a frightened child, trying to calm himself and the older boy back down.

"Marcus, I know you said before that you didn't want to be a pansy… At the time _I_ didn't either… But now I've accepted it. That's what we _are._ We can't keep hiding it forever. It's already seeping out."

Marcus responded without missing a beat. "Then we need to stop." Marcus spoke frantically, gesturing between himself and Oliver, the fear in his eyes palpable. "We need to stop _us._ To stop the rumors. We can't see each other anymore."

Oliver blanched. _No._ No, no, no. Marcus hadn't said that. Oliver stepped closer to him and pulled the older boy in his arms, looking up at him affectionately. "No, Marcus, you don't mean that," Oliver rambled desperately. "You're just scared, okay? It's alright… We can _do_ this. You said you would never let anything come between us? Remember? You said we would hold hands a brave through this together. The both of us are angry right now. We need to go, sleep it off, and we'll—"

And then, quite suddenly, Marcus roughly shoved Oliver away, so hard, Oliver stumbled. " _No!_ Everyone will treat us like your dad did! I can't handle that! Okay?! I don't want people calling me a pansy!"

And that shove did it. Oliver felt something inside him snap and his teetering form fell over the edge. "But that's what you _are,_ Marcus! You _fucked_ me! A _boy!_ And you enjoyed it! I'm a pansy! _You're_ a pansy! And you know what else your are? You're a _coward!_ That's your problem! Whenever things get tough, you RUN AWAY! It's the same thing with you, every time! You _ran_ away after you first kissed me, you _ran_ away from detention, you _ran_ away from your parents, and now you're _running_ away from this! You know why? Because you're nothing but a big, _bloody, COWARD!_ "

And that's when Marcus punched him. Right in the face. So swiftly, Oliver didn't see it coming. And so hard it knocked him off his feet. Hard enough that it broke his nose. Again.

Marcus stood over Oliver, heaving and looking down at him like an angry gorilla. He looked ready for and capable of murder. Oliver looked up at Marcus and for the very first time, he was genuinely afraid of the Slytherin. Marcus towered over him and Oliver saw a tall, huge, broad _stranger,_ someone capable of physically hurting him. Who was this person?

" _Fuck_ you, Oliver," Marcus spat. "I don't need this _shite_. And I _definitely_ _don't need_ _you._ " Then he turned and stormed out of the library.

 _End of Book One_


	14. A Day Like Any Other

Part Two: 1995

* * *

Oliver was ecstatic when he'd received his tryout letter a year ago. He'd almost cried with excitement. He and a few mates had slipped away from Hogwarts to celebrated with a couple of butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks and Oliver hadn't even made the team yet. But everyone knew that he was a brilliant Keeper; they were sure that he would make it. And they'd been right.

Oliver shot through the tryouts like a Quaffle through a goalpost. There were only four other lucky souls selected for the position, two from Durmstrang, one from Beauxbatons, and one from a school in Australia Oliver had never heard of. Oliver outperformed them all. This called for another celebration. All of his old Quidditch team, most of Gryffindor house, even a few Hufflepuffs had been invited to the party of the decade. Someone—Oliver didn't know or care who—had booked the Weird Sisters and it had turned out to be one hell of a night.

After Oliver officially joined the team however, he found that he'd celebrated a little too soon. Coach Deverill was more strict than anyone Oliver had ever met. Even McGonagall. He would make Oliver practice things he been doing for _years._ Simply because he said Oliver had been doing it wrong. If Oliver had a systematic method that produced consistently accurate results, why did it matter how he performed it?

There were many times Oliver had to force himself to not scowl at his coach. It would do him no good to get into an argument and wind up suspended or _worse,_ kicked off the team. Quidditch was his only source of income. The sport was his _life_ and he was happy to make a living doing it, but compensation for the reserve team was nowhere _near_ as much as the actual team. Oliver only _just_ managed to afford a small two bedroom flat over a tea shop in muggle London.

So Oliver soared over to the goal posts on his company bought Firebolt, and did as he was told, practicing a goalkeeping tactic he had already perfected. But _incorrectly_ let his coach tell it. Oliver had to constantly remind himself that Puddlemere United Reserve was all he had.

He practiced into the night, until he couldn't see anymore, long after his coach and the rest of the team had left. He practiced until was _certain_ he was performing in a way that was expected of him. He was a brilliant Keeper and he knew it. If he did everything right, he stood a better chance of being moved to the front team and he could finally live the life of a _real_ professional Quidditch player.

When Oliver finally made it home to his empty flat, sore everywhere from clutching onto a broom all day, he shuffled with a stiff back to the cabinet in his loo where he kept a more than sufficient stock of muscle relaxing potions from the local apothecary. Though someone's relaxing hands massaging his back would've been much better, Oliver would have to settle. He popped the cork and downed the vile tasting elixir. Then he trudged off to spend another of many nights in bed alone.

—

The next morning Oliver was ambling on a bench in the park that his flat overlooked, enjoying the sun and scenery when he spotted a familiar frame walking by. This person was the same height as the guy he knew and he had the same stride. But in the end, it was the hair that have him away.

"Percy?" The scrawny person turned his head, and Oliver discovered that, indeed, it was Percy. Oliver smiled warmly. He hadn't seen the boy since they finished school over a year ago. Well, Oliver couldn't say boy anymore, because Percy was more than that now.

Percy had the same lanky frame, which had caught Oliver's eye in the first place, but even through his muggle attire, Oliver could see that his body was more defined, that he had more muscle now. His hair was different now as well, cut low in the back and sides, with long fiery curls falling over his forehead, almost touching his eyebrows.

"Oliver?" Percy asked, sounding just as astounded as Percy. He strolled over and joined Oliver on the park bench. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off with Puddlemere somewhere?"

"I'm only reserve," Oliver shrugged. "We don't play as often. Honestly we're like a backup if something happens to someone on the front line. I spend most of my time roaming the local area. I have a flat right over there." Oliver pointed to the shop overlooking the park.

" _Really?_ I come through here almost everyday on my way to the ministry. Why am I only just now seeing you?"

Oliver shrugged again. "I don't know. I kipped with me gran for a couple of months after we finished school. But I've been here for almost nine months now."

" _Really?_ " Percy repeated. "Well how about that? It's a small world."

"Yeah. It is." Oliver smiled at him. "Well, you look great!" Oliver added, gesturing to Percy for emphasis. "I like your hair like this."

Percy flicked at his curly bang dubiously. "I just got it done a few days ago. I sat in this muggle stylist's chair. Told her to make me look different. And _this_ happened."

"Honestly. It looks nice on you."

"Well, thank you." If Oliver didn't know any better, he would say Percy was blushing. "Honestly, it was a splurge. Everyone knows the goblins charge _off the wall_ to exchange wizard currency for muggle and I go and spend it on a haircut. My ministry job doesn't pay _nearly_ as much as you'd think. I have a shabby flat in a not-so-good part of London. Making the end meet is a struggle and listen to me sitting here _rambling_ about my personal problems. How rude. My mother taught me better. How have you been?"

And then, after listening to Percy's small rant, the idea that would irrevocably change both their lives occurred to Oliver.

"You could move in with me." Oliver had voiced the suggestion before he'd even had a chance to think about the implications. But he quickly realized that he actually meant it. It was a genuine offer.

"What?" Percy frowned, as if he hadn't heard Oliver properly.

"Yeah!" Oliver exclaimed, as if it were a simple concept that Percy wasn't understanding. "I have an empty room. And it would solve both of our problems. You're struggling. I'm _close_ to struggling. So close it's scary. Put our two incomes together…" Oliver smiled and shrugged. "Simple arithmetic. And it's not like we haven't lived together before."

"We _haven't._ We slept in the same room. That's not exactly living together."

Oliver shrugged again. "Close enough. You'll be off at the ministry all day. So it'll be exactly the same."

"Oliver. As _appealing_ as that sounds," Percy said, his tone suggesting that it was anything _but,_ "I couldn't possibly impose. Thank you for the offer, but I'll figure something out." He smiled cordially and Oliver understood that he wasn't offended in any kind of way. "Speaking of the ministry, I really should be getting to work. It was nice seeing you again." He smiled again and was almost gone before Oliver could get another word in.

"Wait!" Oliver called out, stopping the other man. He hopped up from his bench and trotted over to him. "I'm sorry for running you off with my completely inappropriate proposal, but we should keep in touch. It really was nice seeing you again."

"Yes, it was _thoroughly_ inappropriate," Percy agreed with a chuckle, "but I do appreciate it. And sure. I'd like that. A coworker of mine is actually having a small going away party for his brother. Would you like to attend?"

Oliver eyes widened in astonishment. " _You? Party?_ "

"Oh ha ha," Percy responded sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. "It's not that kind of party. It's just a small thing. There will probably be like ten people at the most. A few drinks and small talk. Besides. I'm not the same tight wad that I used to be. I'm a different man from the boy you knew." Despite his words, Percy said this in the same pompous manner that Oliver remembered. And it only made Oliver laugh.

"Oh really?" Oliver said through his smile, raising a dubious eyebrow. "How so?"

The corner of Percy's lips curled in a clever manner. "You can ask me more about it at the party. Are you coming or not?"

Oliver frowned. "Frankly, it doesn't sound like fun. Hanging out with a small group of strangers."

"Come on," Percy insisted, his shoulders slumping. "I'm only going because the coworker is a friend and he practically _begged_ me to come. He'll be spending most of his time with his brother. It'll be nice for me to have someone there that I actually _want_ to talk to."

"Well," Oliver caved. "If _that's_ the case. If practice doesn't prevent me, I'll be there." Oliver shrugged and smiled at his old friend.

"Thank you," Percy said, his stiff pompous stature returning. His hair may be different, but Oliver was certain that Percy hadn't changed much. "I'll send you an owl with the details."

"Alright. I look forward to it."

"Well," Percy said, with a polite nod, "I shouldn't be late for work. Hopefully I'll see you soon." And with that, Percy strolled away through the park. Oliver smiled. No matter what Percy said—or did to his hair—he was still the same amusing, perpetually pretentious pratt. And he was still Oliver's friend.


	15. The Plight of Percy

It was three days before Oliver received said owl. Oliver was beginning to think it wasn't coming. And that only made him confused. Why would Percy _insist_ he attend, to only completely ignore him afterwards? Had his offer of hospice upset Percy more than he'd put on? But Percy wouldn't lie to Oliver's face like that. Would he?

Maybe Oliver didn't know Percy like he thought he did. Maybe Hogwarts Percy and Adult Percy were two different people. Maybe living as an independent man had changed him. He'd said he wasn't the same boy anymore. Hadn't he? But a person couldn't change that much in a year. Could they? Oliver hadn't changed much. He was still the same friendly, competitive, and playful person he'd always been.

Oliver didn't realize how much he was actually looking forward to getting out of the house for something that didn't involve Quidditch, until the owl failed to arrive. He was surprised to find that he was becoming a little sour about the situation, when a downy grey owl tapped on his kitchen window.

Oliver quickly let the bird in before any muggles could see it soaring around in broad daylight. Fortunately, they were usually more concerned about where they were going and didn't bother looking up while they did it. Oliver would've much preferred to have a loft in a Wizarding village so he didn't have to hide like this, but unfortunately, his current residence was the only—the least expensive—thing he could find. He held his arm aloft as a perch for the familiar owl.

"Hello, Hermes!" Oliver smiled at the bird. "Remember me? We used to live together!"

The owl emitted a cheerfully dignified hoot as if saying, _Of course I remember you, you annoying prat._ Then he popped his leg out with the attached letter, and flew off promptly after Oliver took it. The letter was short and to the point, just like the Percy Oliver remembered.

 _Oliver,_

 _If you're still interested, the party is tonight. I'll swing by at around at around 7 to check in. We can apparate from your place._

 _Percy_

Seven? PM? Oliver performed a quick tempus charm and was astonished to discover it was already six forty seven. _Really?_ When did Percy send the owl?! He stared at his messy flat as if seeing it for the first time. There was a nasty dark stain on his sofa from where he'd spilled tea on it and siphoned it up improperly. There were cartons all over the place from his favorite muggle Chinese takeout. There were sweets wrappers, and dirty clothes and misplaced shoes and... As much as Oliver had left things lying around before, Percy had _never_ let their space get like this when they roomed together at Hogwarts and he would surely have something to say if he saw Oliver living this way now.

Oliver dashed about the place, waving his wand frantically, vanishing rubbish and siphoning up three day old spills. He charmed the many soiled garments to stash themselves away in the hall closet for the time being. He was deciding whether or not he had enough time to get the carpet to vacuum itself, when the muggle doorbell rang.

Oliver glanced around the flat once more. It was still a little untidy but it looked much better than it had. He bounded down his front stairs two at a time, swung the door open… and there was Percy, standing on his doorstep, looking just as lanky and freckled as ever.

"Hello, Percy," Oliver sighed and smiled a tight smile, standing in the doorway. "Wonderful amount of notice you gave me." _What if I hadn't been home? What if I'd had plans already? This isn't like you Percy._

"I'm sorry. To be completely honest, I only just remembered about it." Percy sighed exhaustedly, running a few stiff fingers through his curly ginger bang, and pushing his way into the foyer, inviting himself into Oliver's home. Oliver glared at the back of Percy's head indignantly but didn't say anything.

"There's a lot on my plate right now," Percy said despondently over his shoulder as he climbed Oliver's staircase. "I wasn't even going to go, but I promised Reggie and I invited you."

"Don't make yourself go on account of me," Oliver said sincerely, stepping around Percy in the narrow stairway to open the door like a polite host would. "I'm sure your friend will understand. Welcome." Oliver waved a stiff arm in a gesture to his small, still slightly messy flat. "Can I get you anything? Water? Juice?" Oliver popped his eyebrows with a playfully devilish grin because he was certain that he didn't remember Percy ever drinking, but he offered it anyway. " _Firewhiskey?_ "

"No. Thank you," Percy replied despondently, looking around the small flat. He didn't say a word about the mess. He didn't even look perturbed by it. This is when Oliver realized something wasn't right. Percy didn't look in a partying mood at all. In fact, Oliver thought he looked rather skittish. He looked liked he had the weight of the world of his shoulders.

It was then that Oliver realized. Percy hadn't changed at all. Maybe he he'd grown up a little, learned a bit more about responsibility. But at his core, Percy was the same person, just like Oliver was. Something was _wrong._ There was something going on in Percy's life that was making him behave this way. He wasn't thinking properly. Something had his mind his preoccupied.

"Is something wrong, Percy?" Oliver asked, his playful mood vanishing just a quickly as it had come.

The delay in his response didn't go unnoticed to Oliver. It was as if Percy was deciding whether he wanted to talk about it or not. But he smiled an obviously forced smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah! I'm fine. The party started half an hour ago. You ready?"

Oliver completely ignored him. "I'm still your friend, Percy. You can talk to me. You know that, right? I don't think you came here to take me out." Oliver stepped over and gently clapped his old roommate on the shoulder. "I think you came because you need someone to talk to. I'm here. What's wrong? Maybe I can help."

Percy sighed in defeat, his despondence breaking through the faux cheerfulness. " _So_ much is wrong. I don't even know where to begin."

Oliver frowned a concerned frown. "Sit down." Oliver nodded to the sofa beside them. "I'll make tea." Oliver didn't know the purpose, but whenever someone had come over upset in the past, his mother always made tea, so Oliver assumed it was appropriate for this situation.

He bustled about in the kitchen while Percy sat quietly staring at his hands. He didn't look like the confident and pretentious boy Oliver knew from Hogwarts. In that moment, he looked like someone who'd bit of more than he could chew. _What have you gotten yourself into Percy?_ Oliver thought.


	16. The Plight of Percy: part ii

Oliver tipped back into the room with a tray overladen with tea and crumpets—store bought crumpets of course. Oliver had barely managed to brew the tea properly. He didn't know the first thing about making crumpets. Did you bake them or cook them on the stove top? Did he he need milk? Eggs? Oliver didn't know, so he kept kept a stash of his favorite brand in the fridge for whenever he got a craving. He sat the overflowing tray on the table and actually elicited a small chuckle from Percy when a few crumpets fell of the side and rolled away.

"Can you tell that I don't do this often?" be asked as he poured to cups of tea, adding a sufficient amount of milk and sugar cubes to his own. He handed a mug off to Percy and left him to fix it how he pleased.

"Alright," Oliver spread some butter across a crumpet and then gave Percy his undivided attention. "I'm listening. Start at the beginning."

"The beginning is so far back…" Percy hesitated. Oliver simply nodded for him to continue. "Well. I guess it all started after I left home. Harry Potter came out of that maze with his story about You-Know-Who returning, frightening the entire Wizarding world." Oliver remembered hearing something about that. "My dad and I had a _huge_ row about it. He said we should side with Harry and Dumbledore," Oliver agreed. Even though there had been no evidence to confirm anything so far. But if Dumbledore believed it, it had to be true. Right? It was hard to get something passed someone as brilliant as him. Oliver didn't voice his opinion, however, because it might affect Percy's story. After all, this conversation _was_ all about making him feel better.

"I said we should side with the ministry," Percy continued. "because they know what was best for this country. Our fight was so devastating I left home. I was so pretentious and thick and I'd just received my promotion. I told him that I didn't need any of them and that when they all went crashing down with Dumbledore, I wanted the entire Wizarding world to know I wasn't a part of their family anymore. And I packed up and left. Then _Fudge_ lost his marbles and _I_ got reprimanded for it. What sense does that make? I had an inquiry about it and everything! And… Eugh…" Percy rubbed his temples and sighed.

"I'm getting ahead of myself. I said some _really_ nasty things to Dad that I wish I could take back but I can't. Oliver, they were _terrible_ things that no one should say to their parent." Percy stared at his hands again. "They were so terrible I can't even recount it. How could I speak to my father like that? He _raised_ me. I might not have had the best life but he did the best he could. Not only that, but I left my mum in tears. Now I can't go back.

"And _then_ Fudge goes and loses his marbles. Honestly, I can sense the end of his term approaching. He leaves me in charge of things—I would _never_ admit this to anyone else—that frankly, I'm _completely_ under qualified for. Things that _demand_ his presence. Just the other day he _had a headache_ so he sent me to a private meeting with the head of magical law enforcement.

"I made a complete and total fool of myself because I had absolute _no_ idea what the man was talking about. I was detrimentally incompetent and though I tried to hide it, it was blatantly obvious. Thank Merlin he had sympathy on me. He knew I was in over my head but instead of calling me out, he just decided to reschedule for when Fudge was feeling better. _Merlin,_ it was so embarrassing." Percy slapped his hands across his face as if he felt the need to hide himself from the shame all over again.

"The job is completely overwhelming, but I can't step down because I'm already not compensated enough to make ends meet and I—" Percy stammered and Oliver could tell he was reaching sensitive information. "I got home the other day and there was an eviction notice on my door; the evening I came in after running into you to be exact. I knew I was behind a couple of months, but I didn't know I was _that_ behind.

"Honestly, that's why I forgot about Reginald's party. I've spent the last few days searching for somewhere else to go. But everything is too expensive and with no kind of down payment who would consider me?

"To be completely honest, I do have an excuse for coming over." Percy lowered his glance to the the floor with the confession. "I wanted to ask you if you were serious about us living together. Are you? Because I have nowhere else to go and I have to be out of my flat in the next two days or my landlord's going to throw my things out on the street."

Oliver smiled and bumped Percy's shoulder with his own. "Of course I was serious!" he responded cheerfully. "It'll be just like old times!"

"Hopefully not _just_ like old times," Percy said. "Maybe we can skip over the part where I'm always picking up behind you." He peered around the loft again and sneered as if he were seeing it for the first time. "Thank you for your hospice, but if I'm going to live here, we need to clean up. Oliver this place is _disgusting._ "

This insult only made Oliver smile. _There_ was the Percy he knew.


	17. The Plight of Percy: part iii (M)

The next day, the two of them quickly and easily moved Percy in. He didn't bring a lot of things with him, because—Oliver discovered—he didn't have a lot of things. A few robes and muggle clothes. A couple of pots, pans, dishes, and silverware. A twin sized bed and—Oliver wasn't at all surprised—a small box filled with books, random books, from muggle classics like _Moby Dick_ and _Prince of Tides_ to wizarding nonfiction like _Hogwarts, A History._

Oliver welcomed the perks of having a roommate again. It was like their Hogwarts years all over again. Oliver left things all over the apartment. Percy put them back where they belonged. Percy nagged Oliver about it. Oliver ignored him.

But Percy brought out some of the good things in Oliver too. If Oliver came home and Percy was lounging around with a good book, sometimes Oliver would grab a book and lounge around with him, something he _never_ did when he lived alone. Or if Percy was eating something healthy—which he usually _always_ was—Oliver would snack on it with him.

Living with Percy again was _certainly_ just as it was before. For the most part. Until two weeks into their new living arrangement. Of the seven years they'd roomed together, Oliver had never, _ever_ crossed the sounds he heard that day. Percy had stumbled upon Oliver wanking on a few occasion, but never the other way around. A part of Oliver thought Percy was asexual or something. But on a gloomy, wet day, after Couch Deverill had graciously decided to call the practice, Oliver came home to very suspicious noises.

"Mnhg… Ungh… _Merlin…_ " At first, Oliver had to brace himself, listen a little harder. Then he was astounded. Because he'd _never_ heard these noises coming from Percy before. And he was certain that it was most definitely _Percy_ making the pleasurable moans.

Oliver's astonishment quickly changed into amusement. The pretentious, pompous, _Percy_ was _wanking?!_ Oliver couldn't believe it! He had to restrain himself from laughing out loud. So Percy _was_ sexual after all. Oliver found himself pondering over what kind of things would turn Percy on. A sexy librarian? A young promiscuous school professor?

He then found himself creeping down the hallway. He knew that he shouldn't… But he was _compelled_ to. Besides, it was Percy who hadn't put up the silencing charm. Yes, Oliver had said he would be at practice all day but still… If Oliver were in Percy's position he _still_ would've cast a charm. Or an intrusion spell to alert him when someone came inside the flat.

Oliver was simply _curious_. Who _wouldn't_ be curious about the uptight, prat, _Percy?_ What faces did he make? Was he on his back or his knees? Did he pump fast or slow? Did he use lube? Or was it a quick, dry wank? Did he use porn? What kind? Oliver simply didn't think of Percy as a sexual bloke. He had to see it for himself. So he crept along down the hallway.

"Mngh… _mnngh…_ " Yes. Those were without a doubt, moans of pleasure. Percy was most definitely wanki—

"Mngh… _Merlin…_ Just like that…"

Oliver froze. Just like that? Wait a minute. Percy wasn't wanking... He was _shagging_ someone. Oliver couldn't fight the grin that broke out across his face. He had to slap his hand over his mouth to hold in a chuckle of surprise.

Some bird was shagging _Percy?_ Pigheaded, prefect, _Percy?_ Oliver found it so hilariously amusing that someone would find those personality traits attractive. _Who?_ He crept along and slowly, so cautiously slow—he didn't dare make a sound—he hunched over to peep through the keyhole like a creepy voyeurist. Oliver's jaw dropped. From his angle, Oliver could see the bed and _everything_ that was happening in it. It all matched with the sounds he'd heard perfectly.

Percy's pale freckled flesh was pressed into darker, tanned skin. The two bodies lay tangled in the white sheets. Oliver could see every touch, every caress, and every kiss. He could see Percy lying on his side with large, strong hands gripping his hips while another man slid his long, thick shaft in between beautiful, plump cheeks and up Percy's arse. He could see Percy's face twisted in pleasure. And he could see the face of the man behind Percy, a face contorted in ecstasy.

Oliver couldn't believe it. Not only was Percy with another _guy_ , but that guy was _Marcus_. Oliver didn't know what to think, what to do. He was frozen. Marcus. Marcus Flint was shagging Percy. Oliver couldn't wrap his mind around it, even though it was happening right before his eyes. So he simply watched.

He watched Marcus reach around Percy and pump the slimmer boy's impressive girth. Oliver watched the thick prick slide in, out, in, out of Percy's cute little arse. He watched on as Percy began to push back into each of Marcus' thrusts. Both of their skin was so smooth, so shiny from sweat and both looked like they were in heaven.

When did Oliver become a pervert? He couldn't look away. He stayed there bent in that uncomfortable position for so long that his back started to ache. Without realizing it was happening, he inadvertently tilted forward, bumped his forehead into the closed door, and gasped in shock from his mistake, but luckily it was was masked by a muffled ,"Oh shite," from the inside. Oliver wasn't sure who said it, but he shuffled away from the door as quickly and quietly as possible.

"Oliver?" Percy called out in a startled tone. _Shite._ There was no way Oliver couldn't have heard what they were doing, even if he _weren't_ standing right outside the door. They weren't exactly being quiet about it. They both knew he was here now, and that he had heard them. If he ignored Percy, it would make things much more awkward than they needed to be afterwards.

"Sorry," Oliver responded, his eye clenched shut, throat a little tight from embarrassment. He we almost certain that his attempt at nonchalance was a complete and utter failure. "I stumbled on my way to the loo." He quickly dashed away from the door and to the lavatory, taking care to make as much noise as plausible along the way to announce his departure. He closed the door loudly, enclosing himself in the small bathroom.

Shite. How and when did this happen? When did it begin? Percy wasn't even interested in men. Oliver would know. Wouldn't he? They'd been roommates for seven years! Even if Percy had been too afraid to tell anyone, _surely_ he would've let something slip during all of that time, some kind of clue to hint at this so Oliver wouldn't be so surprised.

And Marcus. _Marcus_ of all _bloody_ people. Weren't Gryffindors supposed to shy away from Slytherins? Weren't they supposed to hate each other? What was it about that bloke that, not one, but two Gryffindors had slept with him? Did he have a— There was a light rap on the door.

"Oliver," Percy called a little timidly. "Are you in there?"

Shite. Were they going to talk about it already? Oliver needed time to compose himself. If he spoke about so soon he wouldn't be able to function properly. He wouldn't be able to—

"Oliver?"

Shite. _Shite, shite, shite._ Oliver took a deep, calming breath, then turned and opened the door.


	18. Oliver's Peering Problem or Percy Next(M

Percy stood outside the lavatory door in his thin, form fitting house robe. It wasn't really helping the matter. Oliver was trying to get the image of Percy's naked body _out_ of his head and here Percy was standing in front of him practically bare. And it's not that Percy wasn't worth looking at. Oliver had just seen his cute little round arse and it was _definitely_ worth looking at. He could feel blood filling his prick at the thought of it and had to squeeze his thighs around it to fight the growing erection. This is what he got for being a peeping Tom.

"I'm sorry you had to walk in on it that," Percy said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You said you'd be at practice all day so I—

"It's okay, Percy," Oliver quickly interrupted him. Though he definitely felt uncomfortable—not about what he'd caught Percy doing, but who he'd caught him doing it with—Oliver would pretend not to be to end the conversation sooner. He swiftly displayed what he hoped was a believably casual, accepting demeanor. "Really. I should've announced myself. You live here too, mate. If you want to _shag_ every now and then," Oliver put a playful lilt on the word, "I'll be quiet and pretend I'm not here."

"R—Really?" Percy eyed Oliver skeptically. "You don't have a problem with it?"

"Not at all!" Oliver lied.

Maybe he should've been a bit more honest about how he felt. Maybe he could've avoided what came next. Because Percy took his words for exactly what they were. Since Oliver said he didn't have a problem with it, it went on for _weeks._

Sure they tried to be quiet about it. But Oliver still heard them. He walked in on them plenty of times, moaning and making the bed creak. But Oliver never complained. Because even though he hated himself for it, even though he didn't understand why he did it, Oliver would always creep down the hall and peep through the keyhole. Even though seeing Marcus with Percy brought all of the feeling Oliver thought he'd gotten over rushing back to the surface, even though it felt like a cruciatus to his heart whenever he did, Oliver still peeped through that keyhole, spying on their passion.

He watched the familiar cock fuck Percy's gorgeous ass from every angle, every position. On one night, he could see Marcus's strong arse and his muscle legs, lying in between Percy's slender, open, and willing thighs. He watched Percy wrap those slender legs around Marcus's body. He could see Marcus's buff frame lying atop Percy's slim one. And he could see Marcus's hips pumping, shoving his thick cock in between Percy's cute little arse cheeks and up his tight hole.

On a different night, he watched Percy ride Marcus. He watch Marcus's strong hands squeeze Percy's plump arse, rocking the slimmer man back and forth atop his thick, masculine frame. Oliver saw Marcus's long, fat prick disappear between Percy's beautiful, round arse cheeks over and over again. Oliver saw Marcus slowly lift Percy up off of his long dick until nothing but his fat cock head was left inside the gripping hole, then he swiftly slammed Percy back down on the fat pole, making the man scream in ecstasy. He watched every kiss and caress they shared.

Though it was obvious that he tried not be, Percy was always loud when he climaxed. His orgasm always burst out of him like water from a backed up pipe, heavy and thick. It splashed across Marcus's buff frame beneath him or all over the sheets, depending on which position they were in.

Oliver never saw Marcus's load. At least not all of it. The only time he saw it, was the few glorious occasions he saw bits of jizz seeping from between Percy's plump arse cheeks after Marcus slowly slid his long, thick dick out of the stretched hole when it was all over. Then they would always cuddle until they fell asleep. Oliver always made sure he stayed closed up in his room on the mornings after. He would ask Percy how it was with his 'friend', pretending like he didn't know who the person was, like he hadn't watched everything like a creep. Oliver couldn't face Marcus. He could only watch him from a distance and wish that it was him with the Slytherin instead.

—

It went on for a while. A _while._ So long that Oliver began to berate himself for his voyeuristic tendencies. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop? Each time he came home to the passionate sounds, he told himself to flop down and turn the telly up loud enough for them to get a hint. But he never did that. Oliver always, _always_ spied on them like the pervert he was beginning to believe he was.

He watched until there was nothing to watch anymore. After almost two months of Oliver's peering problem, Marcus stopped coming. And Percy grew despondent. It was obvious that something bad had occurred from the way Percy sloped around the loft. After Marcus stopped coming, Oliver would always beat Percy home, when before Percy would race home from the Ministry as soon as he got the chance. It was as if Percy was trying to distract himself with work. Oliver would warmly greet his friend when he came in but he'd always receive the same unintentionally halfhearted response. Oliver could see a distinct difference in Post-Marcus-Percy and Pre-Marcus-Percy, as Oliver now liked to call him. Pre-Marcus-Percy was the pretentiously pompous Percy that Oliver loved. He was the guy that made Oliver laugh without even trying. He was the guy that nagged at Oliver to keep the loft clean, to do the dishes.

But Oliver didn't like Post-Marcus-Percy very much. He was gloomy and quiet, looking as if he would shatter at any moment. What had happened? What had Marcus done to his friend? Had Percy fallen so deeply in love with him that Marcus had left him as this hollow form of himself? Oliver could believe that. Maybe he should have told Percy that he knew who he was seeing. Maybe he should have warned Percy that Marcus would hurt him. It was that thought that finally made Oliver talk with Percy. He deserved more out of his roommate, out of his friend. After a week of Post-Marcus-Percy, when Percy came home, Oliver called him into to their living room.

"Perce, we need to talk," Oliver started despondently, patting the seat on the cushion next to him. "What happened? I don't like seeing you like this. You were so happy before."

Percy flopped down on the sofa next Oliver, the dam blatant in his eyes. He didn't say anything. He simply stared at Oliver with his wet Weasley-blue eyes. Then the dam broke in the most silent way Oliver had ever seen. Percy's shoulders shook with sobs and tears abruptly poured from his eyes like water from a faucet. But save a few sniffles, Percy's breakdown was completely quiet.

Oliver wrapped his arms around his friend all the same. He wanted to find Marcus and murder him. Percy dudn't deserve this. Sure he got a little lost sometimes, but at his core Percy was a nice bloke. Then, Oliver wasn't exactly sure when or how it happened, but Percy kissed him, soft and tender. Maybe it was because Percy was already hurting and Oliver knew that rejection would only make it worse, or maybe it was because Oliver hadn't felt the touch of another person in such a long time, Oliver wasn't sure why, but he kissed Percy back.

Things went a little quickly after that. Oliver's cock stiffened just as quickly. Maybe Percy put his tongue in Oliver's mouth or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe Oliver groped Percy first or maybe that was the other way around too, Oliver was only certain that somehow his trousers wound up unbuttoned and Percy's hand found its way inside Oliver's pants and around his stiff shaft.

"Percy," Oliver gasped his name, breaking away from the kiss and looking down at the hand shoved down his trousers, the feel of it abruptly snatching his mind back to reality. Oliver's eyebrows touched each other. "If we do this, we can't go back."

"I know," Percy whispered. Then he pulled Oliver's thick cock free and suddenly Percy was on his knees in front of him and Oliver was receiving the first blow job he'd had since over a year ago. And Percy was _much_ better at it than Marcus. His teeth didn't scrape. He didn't gag. When Oliver discovered that, he happily laced his finger through Percy's curly ginger hair and swiftly fucked his friend's mouth. When Percy simply opened up and took it, Oliver's head tilted back in ecstasy as his entire long, thick cock vanished inside the mouth over and over again. Each time he went in, he could feel it deep inside Percy's tight throat.

The ginger didn't gag once.

"Oh… Fuck, Percy. Yes…"

He couldn't believe this was happening. For so long he'd only had his left hand for company. But here he was fucking his roommate's mouth. Percy hollowed his cheeks and wrapped his tongue around the thick shaft, eliciting sharper gasps from Oliver as he continued to ram himself down Percy's tight throat.

Slurps and moans filled the room until Oliver pulled off a gave one long lick up the bottom of Oliver length. The he stood up and Oliver discovered that Percy's trousers were around his thighs, his pink cock at full mast. When had that happened? Percy turned around and exposed that beautiful little, plump arse. He grabbed his right cheek, so Oliver could see his pert pink hole.

And Oliver snapped. Like a feral animal he gripped Percy's waist and snatched him back, eliciting deep guttural moans from the both of them when his this dick found home deep inside the tight hole. Oliver wrapped his arms under Percy's legs and around the back of his knees, pulling the top of the slimmer man's thighs up tight against his chest, completely controlling him. Then Oliver went in, ramming himself into warm heaven over and over again, his thighs smacking into to Percy's ass.

"Oh fuck! Oliver… Merlin! Oh fuck you're so thick and deep! Fuck… Oh _shite._ That's it. Right there.." Oliver had witnessed Percy cry out all the things and more. He never thought that he'd be the one making Percy scream them. He never thought his thick dick would ever be between the gorgeous round cheeks, up the arse that he saw through that whole. He never thought that Percy would be the next person to pull his hot load out him.

Merlin it had been so long, Oliver could already feel it coming. He tried to slow down, tried to stop it. He wanted Percy to climax first. But Oliver couldn't stop his swift stroking. The tight arse was clutching his prick and practically _demanding_ that he shove himself inside. Fortunately, Percy screamed and the familiar thick, heavy jizz burst out of him just before every muscle in Oliver's body tensed and he pounded his friend's arse like a jack hammer, releasing his hot load deep inside him.

The two of the them collapsed sideways on the sofa, gasping, spent.

"Oh fuck… shite…" Oliver panted. "What just happened?"

"I'm pretty sure," Percy panted in response, Oliver could hear the smile in his tone, "that you just fucked bloody hell out of me."


	19. Confessions (M)

Percy rolled over on the small sofa to face Oliver, and the larger man's arms wrapped around the ginger to prevent him from flopping onto the floor. For a moment Percy simply stared silently into Oliver's eyes, the both of them still breathing deeply from what had just transpired between them, their trousers still pulled half down their thighs.

"So where do we go now?" Oliver asked softly.

"I don't know," Percy replied, his voice just as small.

"Well, what do you want to do?" Oliver tenderly placed his hand on Percy's exposed hip, loving the feel of the ginger's soft, freckled skin.

"What do _you_ want to do?" Percy asked timidly.

"Percy," Oliver sighed, a bit of exasperation seeping into his tone. "We have to talk about this."

Percy sighed as well, seeming to shrink a little in Oliver's arms. "I _know_. I just… Maybe I shouldn't have kissed you. Maybe we just made a colossal mistake."

"Don't say that, Perce," Oliver said, his scottish tone full of emotion. He gently lifted Percy's chin with his his thumb and forefinger, forcing the man to look at him. "It wasn't a mistake. We can't pretend like it didn't happen. Honestly, I don't want to. That was some of the best sex I've ever had."

"Really?" Percy asked, a small bit of surprise evident in his voice.

"Yes, really. Percy your arse was _amazing,_ " Oliver assured him, lightly gripping the ginger's plump backside for emphasis. "I want to be back inside of it already."

"I can tell." Percy grinned, peering down at the growing erection poking into his abdomen.

"Why'd you do it, Perce? Why did you kiss me?"

"I don't know," Percy sighed, shrugging. "I was hurting. I still am. You're here. You're warm and you comforted me." He paused for a second, as if he was collecting his thoughts. "But mostly because I wanted to. I've wanted what we just did for a very long time."

Oliver eyebrows disappeared under his fringe in surprise. "Really? How long is a long time?"

"Since school," Percy admitted, his voice so small it was almost a whisper. "We've been roommates since we were eleven. We saw each other everyday. I admired you. You were so peaceful and full of life. You still are. Then you made the Quidditch team and became the popular, hot Keeper that every bird wanted to be with."

"Come off it," Oliver chuckled. "Yeah I was a good Keeper, but all of the birds wer—"

"That's something else I like about you," Percy interrupted. "You were always so modest. You remained the same person I met in our first year. You never let any of the popularity go to your head. And in the midst of it all, you still found time to spend with a prat like me." Percy smiled gently. "And I basked in every minute of that time."

Oliver was floored. He never knew Percy felt that way about their friendship. So he didn't exactly know how to respond to a confession of that magnitude. Percy had been so open, so honest. The only thing Oliver could think to do was be just as open and honest in return.

"Honestly, outside of my teammates, you were the only real friend I had. I know I live and breathe Quidditch and I love what I do but still, sometimes it gets suffocating. Sometimes it's nice to get away from it all, to talk about something else. You were my escape. With you, I wasn't Gryffindor Keeper, Team Captain. I was just Oliver.

"You say that I never let any of go to my head? That's because of _you._ You were my anchor, keeping me grounded, keeping me focused. It was _you_ who pulled me back down when my mind drifted off to some Quidditch tactic while we were supposed to be studying. No matter what I needed, you were always there. Lately, you've become that person for me again."

Oliver watched his words slowly bring a smile to Percy's face. "Really?" he asked dubiously. "I never knew that I meant so much to you. I never knew you felt that way."

"I never knew _you_ felt that way. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I was _scared,_ " Percy admitted. "And I was confused. I wasn't completely sure if I was interested in blokes. That's what that whole mess with Penelope was. And then, I wasn't sure if _you_ were interested or not. I didn't want to confess that I fancied you and get punched or something, ruining what we had. That and I was so certain that you _couldn't_ be into blokes that I kept my mouth shut."

For a small moment Percy was silent. He stared into Oliver chest, as his eyes watered. Oliver was confused about why the broken man from earlier was making another appearance. And then Percy spoke again.

"Then the rumors about you and Marcus started." Marcus. The conversation had made its way back to _him_. "And Angelina confirmed that, indeed, you were with him. I remember thinking, 'Why?'." Percy sighed. "Now I figured out why you were so infatuated with him. I don't know if you've figured it out yet, but that's who I've been seeing. Who I _was_ seeing. He started out as a distraction. Then I wound up falling for him..."

"What happened?" Oliver asked again, his brows furrowed in concern. "What did he do to you?"

"Can we not talk about him?" Percy asked, his voice shaking. "Can you just kiss me again?"

Oliver pressed his mouth into Percy's as an answer and their tongues found each other soon afterwards. It was soft and tender, much like the kiss they'd shared earlier. But unlike their first time, where everything had been quick and frenzied, moving too quickly for Oliver to comprehend properly, this kiss was slow and deliberate and Oliver was astutely aware when Percy rolled on top of him and rub their still exposed and once again achingly hard erections together.

Oliver slowly slid his hands down Percy's back and firmly gripped that magnificent backside he loved, making Percy moan in his mouth while he continued to grind their crotches together. Oliver's hands slipped between Percy's plump, pale arse cheeks where he fingered the tight little pink hole that his thick cock craved to pound again, eliciting a louder and deeper moans from Percy. Then Percy abruptly pulled away from Oliver.

"Wait," he said, his face placid. He completely climbed from atop Oliver and stood next to the couch, leaving Oliver lying there confused.

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Percy responded, a coy smile replacing his calm expression. "You said you want to be inside of me again?"

" _Desperately_ ," Oliver replied.

Percy cocked and eyebrow. "Then you can, but only on one condition."

"And what might that be?" Oliver asked, grinning from curiosity.

"You have to let me inside of you first."

Oliver's grin turned into an all-out smile. He kicked his pants off, and spread his legs as wide as he could for Percy on the narrow sofa. "With pleasure."

Percy beamed, kicked off his pants as well, and awkwardly climbed in between Oliver's legs, his lanky frame lying atop Oliver thicker one. Oliver grinned up at Percy, staring into his blue eyes curiously. "Have you ever done this before?"

Percy blushed a deep scarlet. "No," he admitted. "I've only ever been with Marcus, and he wouldn't let me top him."

Oliver found that very interesting. Because he had pounded Marcus's arse on several different occasions. But Oliver didn't say that. Instead he smiled and wrapped his legs around the slender. "Then I'm happy to be your first experience."

Percy beamed again. Then Oliver gasped when he felt Percy breaching him. He watched the ginger's mouth form a perfect circle as he slid his prick—which was completely proportionate with the rest of his tall lanky body—inside until he bottomed out.

Oliver could feel the long dick deep inside him, stretching him open and his eyes fluttered closed. His legs trembled around Percy and the slim man wasn't even moving yet. Oliver simply draped his arms over Percy's shoulders laid there accepting it, in heaven. Percy was so long, and he made Oliver feel so full. Oliver hadn't bottomed in quite some time so there was a little pain but it was easily ignored. It was then that Oliver realized, Percy still wasn't moving. He was actually quite stiff, as if someone had cast as freezing charm on him.

Oliver peeped one of his eyes open and peered up at person in concern. Percy's face was frozen like the rest of him. His brows were scrunched and his eyes clenched. His lips were tight and his nose was wrinkled. He appeared to be in immense pain, but Oliver knew better.

"You okay?" Oliver asked, smiling and rubbing the back of Percy's head affectionately.

"Yeah," Percy replied, tightly and with a stiff nod.

"You _do_ know that you have to _move_ , right?" Oliver asked, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.

"You're so warm and tight around me," Percy said. "If I move, I'm afraid I'll come." He wined a little at the end, as if he were ashamed to admit it, and Oliver couldn't help the chuckle the escaped him. Only Percy could make him laugh without even trying.

"Well, why don't you test it out and see?" Oliver asked.

Stiffly and slowly, so achingly slowly, Percy almost completely unsheathed himself and pushed back in, emitting a long, odd, unbroken sound that started when he pulled out and ended when he was completely back in. The sound began as a light, almost effeminate moan, that slowly lowered in pitch until it sounded something like a deep growl. It was such a hilariously awkward sound, topped of with that same frozen expression, Oliver chuckled again, and had to force it to not become all-out laughter.

"Mngh… fuck. I want to make you come first, Ollie. But I'm probably not going to last that long."

Oliver chuckled again. "That's okay, Perce. I'll take whatever you have."

After that, Percy slowly picked up the pace and Oliver's chuckles became deep moans. Percy hooked a hand behind Oliver's knee, hitched one of his thick legs further up his hip, and found a sensual pace that made Oliver claw at Percy's back and bite at the ginger's freckled shoulder without even realizing he was doing it. No more words passed between them, only deep moans and broken syllables. Until—as warned—almost two minutes later, Percy's moans got louder and his deep thrusts became swift and erratic.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The word burst through Oliver's lips with each of Percy's sharp, hard thrusts, pounding into that sweet spot inside of him and then… then—

Oliver's hot load dripped from the tip of his thick cock and onto his abdomen just before he felt a warm liquid fill his insides, and Percy collapsed atop him, panting.

"I love you Oliver. It's always been you." Percy said it quietly. So quietly Oliver wasn't sure that Percy was aware he'd said it. But it was with those words that Oliver realized why he'd kissed Percy back in the first place. It wasn't because he hadn't had sex in a long time and it wasn't because he was afraid of hurting his friend.

He gently caressed the ginger's smooth, freckled back, sliding his fingers down across that beautiful arse and back up Percy's spine. "I love you too Perce."


	20. A Pleasant Discovery

Life with Percy just became _better_ after that. Easier. Not that it was hard before. Things were just more open between them. It was Oliver that Percy raced home to. It was Oliver that Percy was in bed with, Oliver that Percy woke up next to. After Marcus broke Oliver, he never thought he'd love the same again, even after he'd mended himself. But there he was, loving Percy with everything in him. As the days went by, Oliver slowly pushed Marcus out of his mind again, telling himself that he was over him, that he didn't love the Slytherin anymore.

But how so detrimentally wrong was he.

It was a week of bliss before Percy and Oliver's new life came crashing down around them. On a typical day. One of the rare days where Oliver wasn't either practicing or filling in for someone. Oliver wasn't expecting anything unusual. But then again, when the worst happens, when is anyone ever expecting it? It usually dropped out of the sky like golf ball sized hail.

It was very similar to this when Oliver strolled across the street leaving the park he frequented, and strolled along the shopping strip he lived over, looking through the window of his landlord's tea shop as he passed by. There were a few muggles lounging about, getting their morning fix before they trudged off to the place that paid their bills.

Oliver turned off the main street onto a small alley that ran alongside the shop as he glanced around, ensuring there were no muggles watching. Satisfied, he smoothly slipped his wand from his trouser pocket to unlock the side door that led up to his loft. His landlord had given him one of those muggles 'keys', but Oliver had put it in the back of his sock drawer and forgot about it. He didn't like to fondle with the thing when a simple unlocking charm would suffice just as well. With a casual wave, he heard the door unlatch and—

"Oliver?"

Startled, Oliver swiftly tucked the piece of wood away and his breath caught in his chest when he turned in what he hoped was an innocent manner to face his spectator.

Marcus Flint.

There he was, standing there as if he'd never left Oliver' life. He hadn't changed a single bit. Still tall, burly and handsome as ever. Oliver's heart was slowing beating its way up his throat, the same way it always did whenever he saw Marcus. Each time he had to remind himself that it was Marcus who had abruptly ended things between them. Marcus didn't want him. He had to remind himself why Marcus had left him and consequently why he shouldn't want Marcus.

But he still did. No matter how many times he thought he'd gotten over him, it would fool him every time. Oliver's heart would always beat for Marcus. It was a moment before Oliver realized that Marcus had stepped into the narrow alley and spoken to him.

"Are you in there?" he asked, gently waving a hand in Oliver's face.

"W—what?" Oliver blank a few times, pulling himself from his reverie and stepping back slightly when he noticed his and Marcus's close proximity.

"This is Percy's apartment." Marcus frowned. "I'm surprised to find you here. And charming your way into his home at that."

"Well, we might split the bills, but in the end it's _my_ name on the lease." Oliver spat after he'd regained coherency. He turned the knob and stepped inside.

If Oliver wasn't so startled to find himself in the situation, he would have laughed at how comically low Marcus's jaw dropped. " _You're_ Percy's roommate?"

"It appears so," Oliver said snidely. As much as his heart screamed to throw himself into Marcus's arms and never let go, Oliver had to remind himself that he was with Percy now. He was happy. And with that thought, he tried to close the door in Marcus's beautiful face. But he couldn't make his arm do it.

"What are doing here anyway?"

"I came to see Percy. I wanted to apologize—"

"He's not here," Oliver rudely interrupted. "He'll be at the ministry for the rest of the day." Oliver finally closed the door but Marcus swiftly popped his foot in the door.

"Oliver wait," he said, his tone desperate. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry for what I did to you—to us. I never stopped loving you. Even after I pushed you away. You were right about me. I was just a scared boy, a coward. But I'm not huddled in corner at the back of the closet anymore. I can be who you want me—"

"Marcus stop." Oliver's voice sounded small, even to his own ears. "You can't do this. You can't pop up after all this time saying these things."

"I searched for you," Marcus responded, the passion evident in his eyes. "Right after I finally found the courage to be myself, to stop hiding, I searched for you. I even went to some of your matches, just to see your face. And here you are, in muggle London this entire time. Now that I finally found you, I wasn't going to let the opportunity to apologise slip away. To tell you that I still love you."

Oliver cocked a dubious brow. "You searched for me did you? And wound up finding Percy?"

Marcus blanched. "It was you. It was you who heard us together all those times. I've been searching for you and you were in the same house with me all along. Percy was just a distraction. I never loved him. I told him that, that's why he left me. I love _you,_ Oliver. It's always been you."

What? Percy left Marcus? That couldn't be right. Then what was Marcus here to apologize for? Why had Percy been moping around the apartment. It was _clearly_ the other way around. Marcus left Percy _._ That's the only thing that would make Percy react the way he did. It's the only thing that made sense.

"No," Oliver said, shaking his head like a dog would to rid itself of water. But Oliver did it to rid himself of the lies. "You're lying. Everything you're saying is a lie."

"No! Oliver!" Fear laced Marcus's handsome features and he tried to reach out for Oliver but Oliver swiftly slammed the door on Marcus's foot making the taller boy scream and retract.

"Just leave us alone!" Oliver spat and shut the door in the love of his life's face.


	21. Confessions Again

Oliver sat on the sofa later on that evening, lights flashing from the telly, but the sound on mute. He twiddled his thumbs together for the umptenth time, contemplating again on whether or not he should a have a cupa or two to calm his nerves. He didn't want to wind up pissed, but he didn't want to flake and not say everything he wanted to say either. Just when he'd decided to grab a bottle, Percy strolled through the loft's door.

"Hi, Perce!" Oliver said, attempting to mask his nerves with cheer. Percy saw right through him and froze in the doorway.

"What's going on. Oliver?" he asked, his brows bunched in concern.

Oliver sighed and visibly slouched into himself. So it looked like there would be no appetizer. Evidently they'd be jumping right into the main course of the conversation. "Marcus stopped by this morning."

Percy froze but somehow seemed to stand a little straighter at the same time, kind of similar to the a dog's reaction when it hears food hitting its bowl. Oliver wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a twinkle of excitement Percy's eyes.

"Did he?" were the only soft words to escape Percy's lips. "W—what did he say he wanted?"

Oliver frowned at Percy's odd behavior but continued. "He said he'd come to see you. He wanted to apologise for something."

"Did he?" Percy repeated, a little louder this time, the excitement now completely evident. This only made Oliver's frown deepen.

"Percy." Oliver starred his lover deeply in the eyes. "What happened between you and Marcus?" Immediately, Percy tensed, hesitant, the excitement waning from his eyes.

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Percy asked, his shoulders slumping.

"No. We can't not talk about this right now," Oliver said rising from the sofa. "We have to be completely honest with each other. Whenever I bring him up, you shy away. And you were just so excited when I told you he stopped by."

Percy didn't even attempt to deny it. Instead he sighed, as if admitting defeat. "Because I thought he'd come with a change of heart. What did he say?"

"He said a lot of things that don't make sense. Percy what happened? What did he do to you?"

Percy sighed another defeated sigh. "Complete honesty?"

"Complete honesty," Oliver responded, cupping Percy's shoulders affectionately. Percy's stared into Oliver's eyes and his wet orbs took on a look of determination.

"It was just after I argued with my father. You and I both know that I rarely drink but after a row like that, even _I_ needed a cupa. Somehow I found myself in a muggle pub. I guess I didn't want to run into anyone I knew. But after I'd had _far_ too many, who do I run into? Of all the pubs in all of London? Marcus. He just strolled in like he frequented the place every weekend. I should've known better than to get involved with him when the first thing he asked about was you.

"But I was already pissed. And then he got pissed and I got pissed _er_. He called me pretty a few times and…" Percy blushed a deep scarlet. "No one had ever called me that before. The next thing I knew he was following me back to my apartment and… well… you know.

"For some reason, we kept seeing each other after that. There were never any words of commitment, never any actual _dates._ What we had was purely _physical_ and on the first couple of mornings he would always be gone before I got up. But tea and pastries would be waiting for me when I woke. And I just thought that was so sweet. Just that he would put the thought into it, you know?

"I realized I'd fallen for him on the first morning I woke up and he was still there, his warm arms still wrapped around me. But when I finally gathered up the courage and told him how I felt a few weeks ago, he pushed me away. He told me he didn't feel the same way I did. I broke it off with him when he said that he could never have anything serious with me. Because he hadn't gotten over you."

The last sentence smacked Oliver in the face like a ton bricks. Everything Marcus had said was true. He _had_ searched for Oliver. Why else would he have asked Percy about him?

"A part of me wishes that I had never said anything. Because then he'd still be with me. A part of him is better than none of him at all. But had I never left him, I would have never found _you._ Even though I love him, I've _always_ loved you. Honestly, I don't understand how I can feel so strongly about two people at the same time. I want him back but I finally have you and I don't want to lose you and I'm... I'm just confused."

Oliver frowned affectionately and pulled Percy into a warm embrace, pecking his lips a few times. "It's okay, Perce."

"Yeah?" Percy asked, peering at Oliver dubiously.

"Yeah." Oliver smiled and pecked his lips a few more times, then raised what Percy thought was a suspicious brow. "Complete honesty?"

Percy frowned deeply. "Complete honesty," he said.

"I still love him too," Oliver admitted, his voice so small that if the telly weren't muted Percy wouldn't have heard him. "But I love _you_ just as much."

Percy frowned deeper. "Well I'm glad we got that cleared up. You love me. I love you. _Marcus_ loves you. And we _both_ love Marcus." He stared deeply into Oliver's eyes. "Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know. You were always the brilliant one. You tell me."

For a moment, Percy simply continued to frown and peer into Oliver's eyes, his blue eyes strong, darting back and forth between Oliver's hazel orbs. Then, slowly a small small breached the corner of Percy's lips, an almost mischievous smile. A part of Oliver was afraid to ask.

"What are you thinking of?"


	22. Pleasant Endings (M)

First, Percy made a call to Marcus. He had to know precisely what it was the Slytherin wanted to apologize for. He dashed some green powder into their fireplace and without Marcus's knowledge, Oliver had listened in on the Flew from the kitchen. He'd stood silently and opened his ears as the little flaming head that was Marcus Flint spoke. Apparently Marcus had lied. Not about still loving Oliver no—he had assured Percy that he still loved Oliver—but about not wanting _Percy._ Marcus hadn't realized how much he liked the redhead, how much he actually wanted around, until he didn't have him anymore.

And Percy had used that information to devise his master plan. Well… not really a _master_ plan because _so_ much good go wrong but it was the best they had. They should be ashamed of themselves for plotting to manipulate someone they both loved. But Oliver wasn't ashamed. If there was a possibility for him to have both Percy and Marcus without anyone getting hurt, Oliver was willing to take that chance. He would tell Marcus the truth afterwards.

It was a simple conspiracy, easily orchestrated, but deceitful all the same. Oliver had thought that after living with Percy for seven years he would know almost everything there was to know about the guy. But he learned something new that day. He learned that Percy could be conniving. He would have to remember to never get on his lover's bad side, or he may suddenly find his life in shambles.

Much like he'd suddenly come home to the sounds of Marcus and Oliver shagging on the sofa. Well… that hadn't been a _total_ surprise. It had been the fundament of Percy's plan. Oliver simply hadn't known the day it would occur. He also hadn't known that they would be _on the sofa._ Percy had wanted his surprise to be genuine and walking in from visiting his gran to Marcus sitting on the sofa with his trousers and pants wrapped around his ankles and a naked Percy riding his dick…. it was _definitely_ genuine.

"Woah, Merlin!" he had almost slammed the door behind himself in a hasty retreat. He had to remind himself that this encounter was planned, it was scripted; he had lines.

"Oliver!" Marcus's eyes fell out if his head. He turned his attention back to Percy. "You said he would gone all day!"

"I thought he _would!_ " Percy lied, still sitting in Marcus lap, the dick still deep inside of him. He had known Oliver was only going to Birmingham for a few hours.

"Oliver—I just—I can explain, just—"

"Explain what? Why your prick is up Percy's arse? When did _this_ start happening again?"

"Oliver please," Marcus said ardently. "I love you _so_ much. This wasn't meant to happen again—" He gently lifted Percy off his cock then discarded him on the sofa and Percy emitted the most indignant sound Oliver had ever heard. It was almost comical. Marcus rushed up from the sofa, so quickly he almost toppled over the fabric binding his feet together before he was smart enough to pull them up his thighs and hold them there as he desperately made his way to Oliver across the small living areas, his hard dick flopping freely.

"I only came over to _talk_ with Percy and somehow—he practically _threw—_ "

"Interesting way of talking," Oliver snapped, adlibing the few words because they fit so perfectly. Then he turned to Percy and flowed right back into the script.

"And _you!_ You said you were over him! What am I to you if you're just going to go back to him?"

"Oliver, I love you, you _know_ I do," Percy recited flawlessly. He rose from the coach and timidly made his way over to Oliver, as is Oliver were a bunny that could easily be frightened away. His previously hard erection had wilted to half mast, as had Marcus's. "But I love _him_ too. I can't explain it. I just—"

"Maybe I should just _leave_ and let you two finish." Oliver interrupted, turning to head back down the stairs, but he found slim fingers wrapped around his wrist. He forced himself not to smile at how smoothly things were progressing. He couldn't get his hopes up. Not just yet. The hard part was still coming.

"Ollie, please, just—just…" and Percy kissed him. He gently pushed Oliver's back into the closed door and kissed him right there with Marcus in arms reach. He slipped his tongue in Oliver's mouth and kissed him, fondling around in there. Oliver pretended to resist him, letting Percy simply pressed their mouths together at first. But after what he thought was enough time be plausible, he placed tentative fingers on Percy's waist, pulling the slimmer boy closer, deepening the kiss, kissing Percy back. He turned them around on the door and rubbed his clothed groin into Percy's naked one, making the redhead moan into his mouth. Oliver did it again. And again, and again, making both of their cock stiff.

Time to move things forward. With Marcus standing there right next to them watching in awe, still holding his trousers in place, Oliver slowly undid his trouser fastenings. He would fuck Percy right there against the door with Marcus watching if the Slytherin didn't do or say anything. But it was when Oliver pulled his trousers and pants down his thighs, exposing his smooth arse to the room that Marcus seemed to realize where things were going and come to his senses.

He coughed uncomfortably, capturing both Percy's and Oliver's attention "Umm…"

"You just gonna stand there?" Oliver asked.

"I—I would leave," he stammered, "but yo—you're leaned against the door."

 _Exactly why we're leaned into it._

"Just get over here, Marcus," Percy sighed. He gripped Marcus by his shirt and tugged him in, smashing their mouths together. Clearly startled by the progression of things, Marcus promptly pulled his lips away.

"What's happening?" His eyebrows were almost touching each in other, the many emotions apparent on his face, confusion, shock, _interest…._ that was the one Oliver clung to. Marcus's interest. Though he was confused and startled, a part of him wanted it.

"Don't ask questions," Oliver said, snatching the larger boy's hand away, making his trousers fall back to the floor, and Percy pulled their lips back together, leaving Oliver with a clear view of—

Oliver sighed in content. There it was. The round, bubbly, fuzzy, plump Marcus Flint arse that Oliver loved. Those short, thin hairs….He hadn't realized how much he missed it until it was in front of him again. While Percy slipped his tongue down the tall boy's throat, Oliver knelt behind him to knead at the beautiful backside on display for him, making Marcus moan a startled moan into the redhead's mouth. But Percy didn't let him pull away this time. He wrapped his arms around the broad boy's neck and held him close.

Oliver spread the luscious cheeks before him and ogled the tight little pink hole for a second. _Fuck_ it was perfect… Just _thinking_ about how it had once felt around his stiff dick was making Oliver harden. Then, without putting any thought into it, he stuck his face in, burying it between two plump cheeks. He couldn't breathe properly but the startled shudder and moan that Marcus emitted was worth it. Oliver licked and lapped at the hole. It tasted and smelled like salty sweat and Oliver ate it up, making the large boy squirm in Percy's arms.

"Ollie! Oh my— _Merlin!_ "

"You like that?" Oliver licked along the crevice of Marcus's fuzzy ass. "You like my tongue on your hole?"

"Mngh Fuck, Oliver, yes… lick me Ollie. Just like that. I can't believe you're fucking doing that..." he said, the awe clear in his tone. Percy shifted his lips to Marcus's neck and Oliver could see that they were slowly undoing the Slytherin. Oliver shoved his tongue inside and the largest boy's head rolled back, trapped between his two sexual captors. "Oh my… _yes,_ Percy, Oliver, mngh… just—fuck, turn around Percy." It was as if something snapped inside of Marcus. He swiftly spun Percy around and shoved the slimmest man into the door. Then Percy was moaning from the feel of Marcus long thick dick back inside of him.

"Mmnngh… Marcus, I love you so much. Fuck me."

"Yeah? You like my thick prick up your arse? Huh?"

" _Yes_ , _fuck_ me…" Marcus thrusted, in and out of the tight channel, his long dick sliding in until it vanished, completely nestled inside each time and making his fuzzy little arsehole spread around Oliver's tounge. With one more firm suck to Marcus's sphincter,Oliver stood and settled in behind Marcus where he lined his plump cock head up with the Slytherin's firm, salivary arsehole. Oliver didn't even have to do any work. Marcus's thrusting into Percy made him—

He slid right into tight, sweet Marcus Flint heaven.

"Mngh… fuck, Oliver. You're so fucking big… Get up in me…"

Oliver couldn't believe it was happening. He and Percy _had_ him. They had Marcus. Their feeble plan could've produced so many negative results in _so_ many different ways. Marcus could've refused, he could've disapperated, he could've simply not shown up. But instead Oliver had him sandwiched in between two warm bodies with a cock deep inside of him.

"Oh _fuck… Oliver…_ You're so— _fuck!_ " Marcus planted sloppy kisses along the back of Percy's neck as he pounded into him, consequently impaling himself on Oliver. Over and over and over again. Cocks in arses, thick dicks fucking holes, moaning and grunting and— "Mngh, Percy—Ollie—I… _fuck..._ "

The small living area was filled with the pants of the three men until Percy initiated a series of orgasms. He screamed and burst white fluid onto the door, making ass clench around Marcus's prick. The compressing cocoon squeezed Marcus's load out of him where it filled Percy's hole. Marcus's clenching tunnel didn't have Oliver to far behind and with another deep scream, Marcus moaned from the feel of the warm fluid spilling inside of him.

"I love you so much, Oliver," Marcus mumbled, his head tilted back on the shorter boy's shoulder.

"I love you too Marcus," Oliver admitted. "I don't want to, but I do. I love the both of you."

"The three of us are finally where we belong," Percy sighed. "Together."

—Fin


End file.
